I wrestle with her song
like a reservoir,
since it mocks the veritable sea.
Its mysteries, unconceived,
she’s robbed of their virginity.
I flew to a galaxy
near the beginning,
and she also found me there
beneath the surface, under the deep air.
Waiting before an impenetrable secret  
I couldn’t escape her song,
her Siren song.
Her sweet words  
enveloped and bound,
like chords wrapped around me
to tame and name.
An infinite darkness of mind vanished
wordless into the unknowing
womb of creation.
And I, banished to an inner wasteland,
heard a voice of genius singing
a base rhythm to her song.
It was plain and blue.
The words were formless but
rose from the bottom of the world.
I am enchanted by an old song
and an older place,
seeming enemies.
Whether by seduction or
will for words
I will be undone.
I must have both
or be without my song.

I wait for your words
as I wait for the dogwoods
in the spring,
and their buds to flower
chalky in the wild woods.

How charming he is
between rounds,
when civility doesn’t stop
the fight.
His charm keeps us engaged.
Once the fight is resumed
he thrusts wildly,
unable to see an open spot.
Why waste my fear?
His blindness is my friend.
By moving in
he only sees himself.
And it’s himself he beats.
I am only a witness,
to his self-defeat.

My footprints stretch
from here to the end of
the last beach.
But my tracks have smoothed away.
The sand is perpetually so.
But If the beaches have a memory
of all the passengers thereon
they could tell the history of the world.

The witness sits waiting
as he walks in, briefcase in hand,
the table lined with lawyers.
He sits, puts down a tablet and pen,
asks for the witness to be sworn in,
and begins.
The pecking order is established.
The questioner is boss
and all embark on the train of
his thought.
'Would you recount for us
the circumstances leading up to
the incident.'
She begins one more time
to recount thoughts and impressions,
superimposed on
dimly recollected facts
whose keen edges
have long dissolved.
Her preparation is as apparent
as a painted door
over the threshold of
the truth.
'You have taken an oath',
he reminds her,
but the lock on the door
clicks shut.
Carefully, then, he makes a small incision
in the web
of aggregated incompatibilities,
and the abscess behind
exudes a purulent glow
through cracks only apparent
to him.
Her lawyer blusters and roars,
attempting to blow out the flickering flame.
But the cover is cleft,
and enough of the truth can be seen
to tip the scale.

Do your best
when it looks impossible.
Show up
when the task appears overwhelming.
Say yes.
when saying no would be easy.
Step forward
when you could be anonymous.
Act
when it would be easy to do nothing.
Choices are inopportune,
and pass instantly.
So does life.
So, carpe diem
while it can be carped.

All the leaves are flying, fleeing, falling;
No more rustling, whistling, swerling.
They’ll rise no highbud till the spring,
Leaves without sound, but sense
they have not died. They’re only in suspense.

Leaves of air fall windsail to the ground
by year down, timefall to terms with God,
as every man and womankind is bound,
kindbound, freebound all, to worms downsod.

Begin your benediction,
In blazes of mother-tree glory,
and end the shame, the contradiction,
leave her stripped, wretched, hoary,
through the winter, blowing, snowing,
all her dark days unknowing.

Leavelost she bares her billion Y’s.
In a billion questions her form is laced.
The leaves had only told her lies
And by sprouting buds they are replaced.

Now rustle not, and rest till spring
When you shall rise from rooting
Seeds, all newness coming forth for good
from melting snow and living wood.
Let darkness fall, there will be light
to brew up morning from the night.