I am that which is becoming

The realization of my dream

Which I’ve been asleep to for these past ten years

And ten years from now I’ll wake again

And in a new direction turn suddenly

Unendingly

And into the sun

Expressions cannot run like ink
    They can only hold fast
To the paper of memory
    And at our feelings . Grasp
For just a moment to pass
   And think though they will not last

The trees up here are thin and fair
Beneath thickened wind which howls away
How they bend and sway and cannot bare
To be spoken of as if they will not stay

I can feel the deep gray clay beneath
The water where my father begs it lay
There is not so much as an autumn leaf of scented left
As there is searing cold to be brushed away

The trees up here are thin and fair
Beneath thickened wind which howls away
How they bend and sway and cannot bare
To be spoken of as if they will not stay