Robert Savino


Shadows of branches break light,
play tricks.
Silence is interrupted by bird song,
wind breeze, calls of night animals.
I escape into the wilderness to sit,
experience absence of thought, flourish
in simplicity, substitute stress
with images of nature, slopes of splendor.
But reels of film replay over and over,
from panoramic playground views
to unfamiliar dimensions of embodied imagination.
The path is long, several mindful miles, often
winding around weeping willows,
through rows of snow-covered pines.
The sun reflects off ripples of the lake,
wrinkles of my face distill in distress
and doubt. I draw long, deep breaths,
encounter silence faraway, faraway;
walk barefoot into the sequence of days,
somewhere beyond the ox in me.

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