Saturday, August 21, 2004


No few trees my forest tresses have lain
foundation, ill-neatly compass their trail
Unbridle pathways reign deep enbriared
versions of more formal

sheltered selves. Root snaps where
'praps it should heed canopial obligations
Boundaries branch and desist, turn
head, scabber weathered
hands furrowing for prayer

Rules left fallow go hybrid to seed
I scatter rust to feed children
Thus I'm marked wisdom, chained cook-pot
I cloth up spots of the world's water-
falling irreg
ularities, hack freedoms

from some indebted dead
wood. Focus upon each just-next silkstain
There may be nightshades of uncaring
I shake barbs. Take leave

(of) myself. Place     weight on
empty spaces. Strain           along borrowed boughs
Stake one step along ancient trusts. I know
not how unhefted needs grow
Earth cries a fossil tomorrow

Plains beckon

Comments: Post a Comment

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?