Ocean

Sometimes I think
I can just hold
my breath
and sink
so low,
where there is no more
blue,
where it is only black
and heavy
with nothing.
So I think
maybe
I can sink more.
I can grow gills,
or claws,
just to remain
deep
and low
at the very bottom
laying on that
silky, sandy surface.


All Rights Reserved: Elizabeth Bohlander Wilson

Pre-Conception

My thoughts are beginning to recycle,
twisting around me like a vine
sprouting day dreams.

My mind is weary from these longful escapes,
lingering on you,
dwelling on the
empty basin,
hoping to fill it up,
waiting for an unforseen surge
to pummel and shake
the walls
of this hollow barrel
where your fingers and toes
will surely plug the holes of my heart.

But, I fear my directive charge
and all my profane and selfish tendancies.
I fear the glorified expectations
and my propensity for thirst and not drink,
the exhaustion that comes
from such a weighted wanting.


All Rights Reserved; Elizabeth Bohlander Wilson

Wyoming

I did not know my heart would bend
to her the way that it did:
melting with the snow,
swelling like the scent of sage,
while she quietly tamed
my wild mind.

She pulled me into her “Trois Tetons”
glowing in their pink sunrise,
where, at the base, blossoms sprouted,
violet, yellow, and white,
flaunting beauty alongside rigidity.

Hearing the call of the elk
and the surge of the riverbed,
I was lured into her instruction
and branded as easily as aspen,
bruised and sore from her terrain.

Her tender rod extricated me
from weakness and worry
as if I were a wild mare
who, in her shelter, was given
peace.

Reticent and broken,
I left weeping
while her cowboy
reared his gelding
in farewell approbation
of the awe that has yielded me.

All Rights Reserved: Elizabeth Bohlander Wilson