LITMIR.BIZ

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      from dirt

      and

      bark

      smites the crenulations of

      these crenelated

      places each year.

      For, this sickness;

      for,

      this cancerous

      ravishing force of greening

      newness and the bud

      I shall find a deep

      seated thanks

      and

      praise for this.

      This is

      where

      I am

      transformed.

      If A Stone

      If a stone should fall out from the bottom;fall out from the middle

      of the bottom of a wall

      along the boundary of a field;

      would that change things?

      Would time

      fall through the stones

      into the dirt

      and somehow

      wash away important things

      that we had only just

      remembered from our past.

      Things we swore

      as children

      we would never regress upon—

      never undo our

      severity of emotion

      and belief for.

      Or, would it just be

      a break in the bottom

      of a stone wall

      that runs along a field

      at the base

      of a red shale mountain

      just outside Uhlerstown,

      Pennsylvania.

      At the end of spring,

      I believe.

      Beautiful Land

      Only give me some space—be it ever so small—to lay my head and ponder.Only give me some space—be it ever so tiny—to sit myself and stare.The place where one piece of land meets another—ALMOST.The space where one mountain reaches itself down and out toward the upward slope of another—ALMOST.There is a river there that runs between the betweens of that place.There is an echo there that bounces off the mountain walls.It is in that great space of the between you tilled the earthy loam of compassion.It is in that expansive place of the echo you planted tender seedlings of giving.The purpling shadows of the dawn-rise mist drape the moistening soil and feed the youngling trees.The days will wear on and it will not be long before the trees you have nursed offer sheltering shade and generative seed.Ponder and stare - with me—upon the grove you have planted;blossom and leaf are soon to bud.Come into this valley of tenderness and gentle giving;find repose among the spreading limbs and cold running water.This place is of your own creating.This space is of your own design.

      This is where you

      shall find your “you.”

      Only give me some space—be it ever so small—to lay my head and ponder.Only give me some space—be it ever so tiny—to sit myself and stare.The place where one piece of land meets another—ALMOST.The space where one mountain reaches itself down and out toward the upward slope of another—ALMOST.There is a river there that runs between the betweens of that place.There is an echo there that bounces off the mountain walls.This beauty is yours;this beauty is you.

      Standing Firm

      Standing firm

      and facing into

      the edges of these hills

      into the edges

      of those valleys

      and

      the river

      out along

      the far reaches;

      I am able

      to slow enough

      to hear

      only the wind

      dancing

      with the

      leaves and tiny

      branches

      of the trees.

      I can hear

      an underlying

      melody cascading

      up and out of

      the Delaware

      as it courses

      with power through

      the red shale Gap.

      It is from this place,

      it is in that melody

      I hear the subtle

      variations that

      my heart has learned

      to long for.

      A melody that sings

      to me of beehives

      and of doves;

      of loamy

      woodland trails

      and knolls.

      It is here I have

      learned to sing of

      what a man is when

      there is no movement out

      and away from the center.

      Sloping Appalachians,

      rising up among the

      foothills of my youth;

      you have consumed me

      and left me

      mesmerized

      by the shrill trill

      of your insects

      and birds,

      of your tree frogs

      and raccoons.

      I am lost

      in a cacophony

      that has destroyed

      the mayhem of

      civilized existence.

      It is gone.

      Place

      Place is the

      kind of thing

      that gets under

      the nails, behind

      the ears, and

      between the toes.

      It follows you

      everywhere—

      lending just a

      hint of displacement

      and yearning toward

      the

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