chuckanut housesit

purple luminescent sunset painting
the hills of evergreens
to my right
the bay
(the sound of puget)
reflecting the sun,
and my camera can't pick up the pinks
or the hues that the clouds give
to the sky
and to my eyes.
my fingers hold guitar strings
and remember how to move quicker
and quicker, how to press solid
on the neck
between frets
mahogany touching the tips
of my hands
understand
i've been doing this for 10 years
singing some lady's songs
and rarely my own;
how well could my voice withstand
it's own words?
how easy would it be to sing,
-then-
?

my body is stiff,
unstretched
un-yoga-d
readjusting
tired
waiting
digesting
ready to unfold
and settle
into fascia, muscles, bones
--the sun speaks silently
to us now,
and illumines rice paddies
and duck feet
and standing water
and a pink lotus
bloom
where i once walked,
on the other side.