by will which in the morning rose green
but withered dry and grey
then slumped exhausted on its
dying day
now in the wake of
new branches
seeking
a grove
the unobstructed sky provides a vast bed
sprawling edgeless
circular,
a chunk of pine amber to warm the palm.
a chunk of pine amber:
charged with a merciful
warm electrical crackle
making itself an open vessel
for any breed of grief
once fragmented, i was
a crumbling sandstone city
contaminated byre
funeral pyre
seeing nothing but end
after death after end
cold, without clothes
sought a grove and found a wasteland
sought a doe although
the doe who does not run is dead
but nevermore a hunter will be led within the grove
unless it is as legend long has said:
the traitor will be buried alive,
within the oak's cleft:
a crack exposed only wide enough
to keep him drunk with death
a bolt of lightning illuminates
that all that is new
is all that is left
and that was a seductive look,
young:
cast off that sullen disposition, you are
young
and if you ever step over my weeds
to beseech
an open vessel, free of lead and
free of grief
you will find my body placid, murky
green
shimmering, stirring
nearly imperceptibly, a young thing
spring begins to bend and flow
