Illusion hills
smoke signals further vision
blanket memory, summer-warm
consciousness dreaming
a boulder for a pillow
battling angels
to climb ladders
everything leaves a mark
low-rounded, still-sacred
some of those illusions
carry ancient names
some of them carry
the bones of the sky
I love how mountains fade into the distance, how it hardly seems real. This poem is the second one I wrote for the polaroid at the top. The other one, a villanelle, is over on Tupelo Press’ website today.
Thank you readers!
The Poetry Patio 