I drag myself
     with gaping wounds,
          out from under
               this inner fear.
Up into
     the blue and clear,
          above my doom,
               before this mirror
of isolated
     deep peace moments
          where i stare
               at nothing more
than the suns reflection
     on a single leaf,
          bright eyed at my
               own integration.
Every particle
     of day here
          is swollen
               into the dappled
slow motion shadows
     of leaves dancing,
          above me  shifting
               as i am interwoven
into the thought
     and substance
          of everything,
               a fountains
hypnotic calling
     in a voice i know
          like life itself
               speaking so crisp
and bone deep purely,
     one fluid vibration.
          i long to touch
               and hold again
yet this constant
     knot i'm in
          does not let go
               so easily.
It suffocates
     and binds securely
          making wisdom's
               progress slow.
Thoughts adrift
     to and fro,
          in and out.
               Dream patterns flow
from dark
     to light,
          stark black
               and white.
How clearly
     must i know
          the cause and cure
               of wounds that spill
out their blood
     in so much ink
          only to congeal
               like poison fuel?
Into words
     that ****
          and rot
               and stink.
In narrow
     withered thinking
          gradually sinking me
               ever more deeply
with each
     new inkling spilled
          a little more weight          
               upon my coffin lid.