And nothing is straight or flat,
and nothing is in rows,
and the creek is babbling,
and everything is decaying
and shooting up green from itself,
and nothing has perfect corners,
and everything's lying askew
as I am lying on this rock,
and the creek is lying
about everything,
babbling on and on,
and nothing about this creek
is on the level...
and nothing is
wasted: nothing is clean.
* * * * *
What Follows
After the brief,
intense storm,
the snow melts
as the sky clears,
revealing sun,
horizon, and
the path you
have been on
all along,
after all.
~ Pete Lee lives with his wife in Ridgecrest, California, a small town in the Mojave Desert midway between Mount Whitney and Death Valley. His poetry has recently appeared online at Right Hand Pointing, Unfettered Verse, The Orange Room Review, ken*again, and Antithesis Common.
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