They ride through like whales skimming the depths of the blustery
wet crush
The clouds break
like waves,
Tough love.
At the hills top, amidst the bear's oaks
there bunkered 2 caravans, 3 hanging mats, 5 souls
a fine imprint of
stories in this nesting fold.
And yet I am in their presence
I know none of them,
the bushy ones
stood
by the ghost lake
the army
of young boys
stood
before and around
their time
weathered elder
the sprawling limbs of
that cloudgazer, medusa tips rising like fingertips from the
dried out
washed out
river belly,
reaching for the high of the father sky
I know none of them,
and yet, I am
in their presence.


© dyliberate528