Wild

she unzipped the tent and stood,
outstretching her arms,
breathing in the morning

looking out at the expanse of the glassy, mirrored water,
at the billowing greens blanketing the mountainous terrain,
at the mist rising to greet the cerulean sky,
she felt almost frivolous

the sweet tang of wild bergamot skipped along the breeze,
but it was the smell of the lake water that enveloped her,
a rich, damp scent that settled into her clothes and her hair and stayed there,
stitched to her with muddy thread

here, she was wild,
wondrous,
free

Advertisements

Look

the little things I don’t do,
and all the things I do not-quite-right,
paint furiously in mirrored hues,
in jerky, hobble-knuckled strokes,
with their overused, gnarled,
blasphemous fingers –
they refuse to stop

and I cannot bear to look

-art by Diego Voci