Shrouded in branches under the rhododendron thicket, I remember A time when I did not second guess at being brave. Peering through a looking glass My world tilted on the edge of the universe-- To create is to die a thousand times as an imposter, Reincarnate as a master. Beheading the strawberry flower early in the season to yield more fruit, later. In moments of insanity real logical progress happens, masked in spontaneity.
The blue jay swaddling seeds in its crop Mechanical bird with singular purpose Notes a mechanical song, Lives to forget--
For every acorn he caches in rotten trunks Or clay soils, with abandon Another rebirth He gives life to the forests by inadvertently, statistically, giving one seed a much greater chance of ever becoming something than the rest.