i have this thought often–
this feeling of wanting to engrave images
in my mind, etch it into my heart,
burn it into my eyes
and it makes me feel, all at once,
at peace and content, saddened and hopeless–
strange, the range of thoughts and emotions
that a green field can inspire

a slice of late spring or early summer–
the fog thick,
the air thin,
a quiet, hushed, steamy blanket of sleep
embraces the river,
the mountain,
and my morning gaze

the marsh holds its secrets
in shades of green
and slivers seen
of bullfrogs and herons
and red-winged black birds there in
that mysterious, almost sensual world
of whispers, of sighs, of hidden life unfurled

i saw a small hawk being sky-bombed by a
smaller black bird and it occurred to me that
maybe i know how it feels to be both