On Saturday,


We went down to the valley,
to take naked pictures,
in the springtime grasses,
unleashed our tresses,
under the river of sky.


And there
trembling in the dirt,
the delight of cool soil on my feet-
i stood, through the shutter snap,
pale skin crawling with hairs, scars and little bruises,
logs around me littered like big winter ships.


Redwood Redhair
and Red bugs rambling,
we were
impossibly human
against that natural,fertile
blooming and dying backdrop-
each thing burnished by the weather,
and tender in it's newness-
green green with black mud around it.


We were like pale slugs against
that golden chorus,
A log rolled over and out we came-
exposed
bleached white and soft,
from the constant shelter of clothes and cars and buildings,
and the shutter caught us,
and stamped this imprint upon me:
we came from here, this valley.
Now we are strangers to it.