What is that pattern of something from nothing?
I guess it is luck at the craps table
And the tearful blessing of a crying newborn
As well as the strong wind that blew down the big elm on Second Avenue.

I  eat my lunch
In silence
Surrounded by murmuring conversation
The rattling of dishes in the kitchen
The cry of the baby two tables down.
It tastes good.

Curiosity travels faster than light
We imagine
So it slows down being converted into the molecular energy of thought and theory.
It slows
Voluntarily in gratitude for the utter freedom it has been given by
The Void.
And so it gives in its tiny way.

I have been going forward.
They say that is where it is.
Now a perpendicular path has appeared, although I know it was there all along the journey.
To the right is the white mountaintop with the promise of unlimited vistas.
To my left is the green valley, with promises of peace and tranquility.
The cool mountain breeze touches my cheek.
The gravel crunches beneath my feet.

The black clouds and lightening have passed to the other side
Calm, Still
Some are chasers of the
Whirlwind
Location, strength and direction are important
Warnings are needed.

The language of my backyard poplar tree cannot be translated into English.  

At least not by me.

I understand a French poet tried it long ago.  Tho' I don't know if he was translating Poplar.  It could have been Oak or Elm.

"Lovely" was the word he left us with.  Maybe that is the best we can do.  Something always gets lost in translation.

I say ,”I need an answer.”

And so I set out on promising paths, till some become rocky and some become steep, while others lead to banks of deep rivers with swift and dark currents.  I turn back each time.

I prefer this straight and level path stretching to the horizon...
where either sunrise or sunset await.  I can’t know which it is...
because I don’t know when I left or how long I have traveled...
It seems to remain only a shining promise.  And so I begin breathing again...