From Out the Cave.

Mornings.When you have been
at war with yourself
for so many years that
you have forgotten why,
when you have been driving
for hours and only
gradually begin to realize
that you have lost the way,
when you have cut
hastily into the fabric,
when you have signed
papers in distraction,
when it has been centuries
since you watched the sun set
or the rain fall, and the clouds,
drifting overhead, pass as flat
as anything on a postcard;
when, in the midst of these
everyday nightmares, you
understand that you could
wake up,
you could turn
and go back
to the last thing you
remember doing
with your whole heart:
that passionate kiss,
the brilliant drop of love
rolling along the tongue of a green leaf,
then you wake,
you stumble from your cave,
blinking in the sun,
naming every shadow
as it slips.

From Out the Cave by Joyce Sutphen (Thank you Whiskey River.)

I think this is why I have come to the mountains and decided to stay so long. Woke up to this view in one of my favorite mountain hideaways. A friend has built her home upon holy ground. Below my window is a river that runs out from a cave–the earth is clearly alive here and all I really hope for is a quick sniff of natural life. The city and the online world has just been too stuffy lately. I needed to hear the crickets, to see some sky, and eat some mountain rice. Part of me wishes I could live here. Who knows? Perhaps I could.

Apologies if most of my posts have been written by others. It’s just that lately, the poetry I’ve come across truly moves me.

One thought on “From Out the Cave.

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