Trek

I trek these mountain ridges

piece by piece:

snow-swaddled birthing knees

(vistas half-seen, elusive cougar)

dappled sun distilling sugar,

seasons peppered over years,

misty Mystery’s shed veils,

autumn’s raucous nerves,

salt tears of dancing trees,

wind’s winding sheet and keening.

My eyes caress the mountains’

curves and edges,

knee to hip,

stretching out spine to nape.

I trek my inner labyrinth’s landscape,

breathing peace by holy peace,

connecting dots of meaning,

exploring Wholeness:

Her voluptuous shape.

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Come with me while the yellow light lingers.

Touch with your fingers the busy world’s end.

Guiding branches reach and beckon.

Open to deeper life, my friend.

We will drink peace. I know the hidden way

to where white birches stretch and sway

among dark pines,

and the red-iron brush glints low

along the sleeping lines of snow,

and the blue shadows play. (1960)

© Tamara Rasmussen 2018