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Crawling Along the Stegosaur's Back

Crawling along the stegosaur's back,

With aromatic sage mopping up my jeans,

Boots wet from morning dew.

The lazy sway of tobacco trees,

And the broken rock from under

A fog so thick I'd swim in it.

No boundary from it and the ocean.

A fleeting bird with a rattling cry,

Merely invisible to the naked eye.

The waves,

They call me down to the burning shore,

Beckoning in hope and naked splendor,

While the kelp mats drift within the swell of

Mother Earth's quiet ferocity.

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