Fuji Mountain, Oregon

Wrote this poem the other day at the peak of Fuji Mountain in Oregon, surrounded by 360-degree vistas of the Oregon Cascades. It felt good to write a place-based poem again in my old notebook. For the last few months, most of my poetry has been people-based while busking spontaneous typewriter street poetry. But this poem is more representative of how I became a poet— sitting in nature, channeling the poetry already present in the silence.

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Living poem: the volcanic Three Sisters, Mount Hood back left in the distance, clouds, green trees, brown burn scars, and Waldo Lake (third clearest lake on earth)

Fuji Mountain, Oregon


The clear lake of the sky is light
blue, translucent, wide
to the living eye flying
from the jayfeather peak of any Cascade.

The edge of becoming is fire
and ice, steaming
layers of lava reaching higher
to cool in a new kiss with the clouds,
a temporary condensation of an endless conversation
between heaven and the molting earth.


 

Poet caught in the act

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