rusting in the mountains…
My mind is like a steel trap
rusted wide open in the mountains,
trigger plate and spring
mostly oxidized red rust
pounded into soil by rainstorms.
Increasingly thoughts dwell as molecules
amidst the chloroplasts
of hare bells and heal-all.
What’s left of the once jagged jaws
lost its edges long ago,
eroded into roundness
like the ancient Adirondacks,
giant relations in a grand circle
about the tiny circle
of iron going home.
~ Wry Welwood
Late twentieth century,
re-edited April 28, 2021,
69th birthday.