Finding the Heart
She stood on stones in the creek crying
Someone asked why are there tears in all this beauty?
because the creek flows
the raven croaks
the wind sings to my heart.
This flesh that grew around my spirit
wants to dance in the rain
cry in the sun
roll in grass
quiver with aspens.
Why is this?
my spirit measures travel in and out of itself
and doesn’t count the miles
or wonder why.
It only knows it must travel.
Rain tells her
Stop managing your tears,
they are the way you find your heart.
©photo and poem by caf
A Perfect Storm
Once a six month storm tore at her shutters
a hot and turbulent wind
pummeled the untanned hide that sheltered the door of a dark cave
wherein lived one of the world’s most illiterate hearts.
As she allowed the wind to help her dance in the trees
Her toughened pelt became soft as velvet
and as pliable as priceless leather
limp, whipped and limber.
In the aftermath of the thrashing torrent
tears kept her hardness soft
and as she walked in the forest
she saw Bittersweet
strewn on the path under her feet
and she rested with her eyes wide open.
©Carole Fults photo and poem