(A furtively insensible glance beneath the foliage:
The dawningmist caresses the stones.)
Striding hidden through (the belonging pondweed)
Climbing over a rained creek (inside a soft misty rain)
Reading in raindrops on rose-hip; (my property)
I am clear. Clearer than wellwaters megin
I am clear on what is dead with this life.
Clear. Harder than Sorrow’s first tears
Clear. Cleaner than sustenance of real gladness
Remembering aged forestshine
Wet leaves caressing the ground
Walking paths, learning the craft of wordless validity,
through the moon’s vividly painted forest-shadows
over this sweet silence and wilted leaf soil
Remaining. Now in a dawn without words.
Standing beside the edge of the woods as a secret,
as tired, failed and forgotten glimmered lumber
where sorrows always are in a temporary frozen
Remaining anyway. Stuck.
I am forlorn-embraced,
all too roughly ripped from this tearing uncertainty
unbeknownst my frail wild-strawberry time returned
and placed itself furthest away from un-necessity
Lingered on here under these lovingly sailing clouds
while these charming wild-strawberry in the green
stood helplessly faired in appeal after forgetfulness
Cure: Life and Death.