LatinosUSA

I thought I recognized
a gnarled oak upon this path
my eyes search the tree line –
perhaps I am mistaken

Acorns at my feet roll
among roots and brush
I hear a far-off cry
lone red-tailed hawk
gliding lazily above
reminding me of something
just beyond the edge of thought
outcropping of rock ahead
stands as sentry to beyond

I pause to pay homage
to stone and sky
in this ancient forest I walk
as others may have
in past lives,
No remnant of voices
reach my ears

I am but an acorn
in this quiet forest
but for the hawk’s cry
warning or beckoning
causing me to glance up
shielding my eyes from brightness,
his shadowed form casts shadows
on the ground, and on my doubts
banishing them into the abyss
pebbles thrown down
a sacred stone well

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