An odd morning. I wanted to sketch the light of the predawn climb, but I couldn't leave the drive to the mountain alone. This may be a poem just for me. Your thoughts are welcome.
east pinnacle
climbing on the cusp of morning.
boulders rooted solid, stolid.
patchy lichen dappled dark.
rockpools black as cold regret.
the sun is tending other mountains.
counsels patience, offers pink –
pale and gray, but I accept it.
light enough to pick my way.
I never meant to kill the robins,
not the first, and not the second.
headlights searched the road for deer,
left the robins just as dead.
the sun will fix me in its crosshairs,
throw me huge against the granite
slabs as big as my own bed.
ask me did I catch the worm.
east pinnacle
climbing on the cusp of morning.
boulders rooted solid, stolid.
patchy lichen dappled dark.
rockpools black as cold regret.
the sun is tending other mountains.
counsels patience, offers pink –
pale and gray, but I accept it.
light enough to pick my way.
I never meant to kill the robins,
not the first, and not the second.
headlights searched the road for deer,
left the robins just as dead.
the sun will fix me in its crosshairs,
throw me huge against the granite
slabs as big as my own bed.
ask me did I catch the worm.