After time away from various creative veins (I’ve written about the hiatus), I have begun to think in lines of poetry again. 

I wrote a poem in the shower on one recent night, a poem with a particular still life photograph of river rocks stacked in my mind, a poem I did not move to paper but let wash through me and down the drain, a temporary mandala of spirit and poetics.

I envision pairing such short stacks of rocks, simple cairns constructed, photographed, destructed and returned to the mountain river near my home, with short stacks of poetry. Like this:


River Rocks 1 by Adam Williams | Humanitou

Photograph by Adam Williams

It’s in the textures of gray, 
the feelable stuff, life lived 
in the real, where the deep 
clarity of black and white 
gets lost. Bring water. 
The land is rugged 
and there is no map 
detailing the braille 
of this terrain.