What is in a name besides association or description? Surely words are tools, but they’re something else as well, aren’t they? Neither author or poet, just mimetic memories of past pieces. Where my mind is left to wander, it gives names to intangible times and moments; empty air on a summer breeze.
Fortune gives sky in blue & gray, with cold Fall rain drops that grow warm in Spring. These things seem certain, & yet they often change on whim. In youth, and love also, there come warm front and displacement; unpredictably inevitable.
No matter where I go the sky follows, and the rushing water rocks against the boulders that guide it. A natural order rules over every rumble & rustle that hums beneath the feet of choir children and prideful parents. Quiet people sit near empty lakes and watch the seasons circle year over year.
One could choose to do so much, or so little, but at some point or another they all choose to pray. God is lost in many places but not here, not in the mountains.
Betwixt shore of Ontario of Mount of Vermont,
monuments of Men & God scatter the scape.
Come time and again
there is bridge over Stream & cloud over Steeple.
