an island

clouds like strata layer today's horizon,
stacks of thick white drifting on clumps of
alpine grass, gaming hide and seek mountains,
rain mist tip top toes swish on rolls and curves of rock
hide them hide them
but they are there i just know it
the brightest white of wet days
is playing the darkest dark of
the night that never truly comes here
to hide a stretching reality underneath. here
instead of dark we get ink blue spills washing
out to the north, solstice is nearing, and a big moon
has shed color streaking the sky yellow leaving behind
a watercolor of melting light and color undulating
like the swells of sea under my midnight kayak. i have never been quite
sure if the fear of bears makes my legs faster or slower
bushes and trees brushing my thighs do not stop
just go his muscles, so quick bob ahead, mirage ahead and
on mile 12 i swear there was an eagle fishing swooping
making magnificent manifest and here roads end, stop
mid stride the only place to go has not been reached
made closer made recovery the magic
of still unmoving wings breaths taken lost
taken lost losing me trifecta of trombones at dawn
dusk gloam here sink here sit here be here
there is no there there is no they, roads may end
but a we goes on. here i still miss something here
on an island with everything or perhaps nothing
the difference is slight, like the blank slate of deafening noise
whose consistency of sound has the most
hollow silence, the universe contained in the dirt
under my fingernail, in the wet of one dancing cloud
tapping toes on gavan hill, cartwheeling on
the ridge to harbor mountain, in the specks in the
iris of light blue eye.

dls