Being atop
the mountains high
looking down
on all
never gave
the right
to consider myself
better, nor
than anyone else,
Humbled was I
being allowed
to exist
a few moments
in the company
of the


Looking Out

My mind opened
the tent flap, the wind
the cloudy skies
the mountains encircled,
I might consider myself
in any other reality.

This scenario, however
which my mind has
not being foreign
nor unintended,
being a reality, more real
than the life
I now live,

Looking out
a rocky landscape beckons
I lean back, considering the view,
in my thoughts….

I Climbed a Dream

Once I dreamed
atop a mountain
somewhere in
somewhere at

I climbed a dream
no nightmarish thoughts
airy ledges
seeing my death falling
below me

I, was me
atop a rocky crag
hopping boulders
sliding, gasping
the thin air
was choking me,

I climbed a dream
or, it allowed
a memory of somewhere
something in my past,
one of my past lives
one of my thoughts
when I stood atop
some rocks, one day alone

When I dreamed
when that memory, sparked
when the time came
to seize the moment
to grasp the golden ring
to revel in being who
that one who attained

That one who marveled
that dreams do come true
but only when I now
dream those dreams,
which I never considered
dreams to be,

Somewhere, I exist
atop a collection
any jumble of stones,
of rocky passages
cool mountain streams
cold nights, aching muscles

Waking aloud
“Catch me if I fall”
said to no one, but just
relaxing on the edge
of forever….

Opening My Eyes

The night called out
while I began to focus
my eyes on the darkness
the stars overhead
the sounds of the stream
my eyes, opening, then closing
Along some mountain stream
in an Aspen grove, quaking leaves
the wind in the pines, whispering
the water flows from snows, melting
my aching muscles, resting,
the rocky ground, makes me restless
the warmth, the cold wrestle with each other
my eyes, closing
the water rushes by, while the wind
changes direction
along the water, gathering the leaves
the Aspen, Quaking, shivering
and shaking,
the stars, silent and burning cold,
in the colder moments before the dawn
the reddish glow upon the trees,
while the sky spins around
the North Star, fading
in the morning light,
the dawn, a new day,
I pick myself up
shaking of the nighttime
now being in my bed, warm and soft
as if a cold breeze, blowing
reminded me

of another time…

Sitting on a Shelf

Sitting on a shelf
cool, granite slabs
at my feet
the feeling that gravity
has no power in this place,

Sitting on a shelf
my feet dangling over
what others might fear
a precipice, an emptiness
a vastness, of which no bottom

Sitting on a shelf
no cares, nor worries
the grandeur of heavenly skies
surrounding my air spaces
feeling light as a feather,
with no heavier intentions, than that

Sitting on a shelf
towering spires over my head
mossy instances, clinging flowers
the sun baked the moment
the cooler recesses beckoned,

Sitting on a shelf
perched above forever spaces
an eternity calling
to others, just not me
while I shared a quiet moment
in these mountains, everlasting

Just sitting
on a shelf…