Invisible Poem 83


The mountains in non-existence
above highest peaks of souls
and even real time keep calling us
with strange freedom. They keep
making us exist for them. We sleep
through calling silences. We dismiss
their breath as winds, and sometimes
we think we are just imagining it, as if
because thought has no substance
it does not exist.

We set out on a windy day; footing
is treacherous on icy ridges, gasps
of depth follow us with every step.
If we did not know we are faith we
would be terrified, It is hard to be
faith at great heights in a body.
Easy to let go and be a native
breath in the white fire.

We see from small roof of the earth
a thousand of miles of cold land,
other jagged ranges of stone, but
the bodies are freezing and there
is no air enough to stay. We step
on the first air step in sharp sunlight
and we rise. This is not imagined,
we can see what we are doing. The
bare mountains of light are here.


 

—Russell Salamon

July 21, 2011



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Recommended Russell Salamon works include Descent into Cleveland (1994, Words & Pictures Press), Woodsmoke & Green Tea (2006, deep cleveland press), and Ascent from Cleveland: Wild Heart / Steel Phoenix (2008, Freedonia Press).  You may contact the author at thesalamons@earthlink.net.

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