cory

the name means “hollow”
half dark and carved out
a secret, holy place
echoes like the warm red
moist sequoia’s bowel

two glass lenses chide
and diffuse my searing eyes’ line
mild-mannering my appearance
a “clark” until you grasp and
discard them

met you just before autumn’s reign
when sky greys and the wind frays
our words’ edges; i am only half awake

and i am not empty, but keep the
sacred place bare and untouched
like the name’s secret

maybe this time there’s no scattering to the icy wind.

instead a facile, placid winterfall
could touch the place to prepare it
for the winding journey of a new and crisp
trail of footprints