Hawksbill Crag
By gravel road
we rise four miles
into Ozark bluff.
Our truck hugs
the slant
of timber line
thin
as a pencil streak.
At Hawksbill Crag,
we tramp
thousands of feet
above shaggy pine
and the thumb of Jehovah.
I clutch a walking stick,
while you slide to the edge
of the bluff face
and act as if you
plunge
to
your
death
until you
slip off
the boulder
back into
the buttonholes
of the pines.
—Dave Malone, from O: Love Poems From the Ozarks
T.S. Poetry Press, 2015
Want the whole 30 poems, 30 prompts series in one convenient place?
You can get that in Earth to Poetry: A 30-Days, 30-Poems Earth, Self and Other Care Challenge.
