Solitude
       

Never still, mist
drifting the canyon
in luminous veils
opens there, now
there, revealing
green firs as if
just born, dewy
with their own creation,
and closes again
in slow gray swirls.

But nothing, nothing
is revealed, to me
or to any eye
of earth or heaven,
because what
can be hidden?
The great land lives
openly in its seclusion.
The river flows
in whispers, mist
swirls, trees vanish
and trees return—
where they were
and always were
and were never at all,
where they will
and will not be.

                            Now,
where the mist opens,
atop one tall tree
a raven lights
and tries its voices.

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Copyright © 2013 John Daniel All rights reserved
from Of Earth
Lost Horse Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission