Layered Fragments, Becoming Whole

The crisp air of the mountain top
breathes
into porcelain skin
and settles on
clunky traction
boots, hour-old dried mud s p l a t t e r s
claiming
movement 
I look out
folded,
my hand resting on my jaw
b o n e
The view h e l d
through dream glass, eyes observing from afar
my mind drifts...
My feet unfold and move
to the well-worn path made up of all who have walked
trudged, held, loved, dreamed, felt
hoped
the green canopy overhead, shielding
I wait
for filtered skylight to hit the trees
just
so
a hair away from mid-afternoon sun
The sense of lost
o v e r w h e l m s
like leaves and rain
deciding to warn of coming rot
through scents of
w o o d
dewy moss on wet soil
mushrooms
c l i n g i n g onto fallen giants
their souls released into stumps
frozen in ringlets of time
exposed
a hint of day-old d a m p hemp
wafts into
rustling dried leaves
c o v e r i n g
buried words
like wild flowers on a grave
as my heart
aches...