In The Red Rocks

It feels like sand in the air and and the bristly needles of every bush make raspy, rough sounds against my jeans.  The ground feels deep.  Much deeper than depth, like deep richness, full of soul and old blood.  Dry in the wind, there are sounds, like birds, like voices, like calls. Cool in the lungs.  I’m mindful of keeping my tread light.  The scents are sharp and cut through one another.  Crisp like danger and welcome.

Washington, You Break My Heart

Washington breaks my heart

It breaks my heart with its beauty

It is heart breaking hard and is protected with pillows wrapped in solar panels and decorated with barbs

It holds my love

robes it in bicycle chains and forgets itselfForgets that it is stitching with cold and water and kisses.

Washington breaks my heart

when it won’t let itself be whole

when it cuts itself to pieces

when it loves itself

when it liberates itself

when it riddles itself with caves and hidden places

and broken ladders

-Njoli-