I am going, I must leave you, for this

is a time when much that can be taken in hand,

into heart and held close is not disposable

but a need made known that might save you.

Outside I slide into fecund air, clean air.

The weight of a capped acorn, a burgundy berry

is not newsworthy yet form and function

matter more than chatter’s clackety-clack

travelling the table, words so much wail and

steam in a room before reaching me.

I don’t want to talk frailty and politics,

brutality and the states of moneydom,

but walk the deep singing sweet earth

that cushions my feet as I crest the next hill.

I climb harder, higher to better see the whole.

This is the matter I find at hand;

this is a way that divines who I am

and feeds me the elixer of great love.

I am shy before the sun’s curtsey

as it leaves lounging bodies of mountains,

this rarified country of trees, elegant creatures

putting themselves to bed

and I think with head bowed

Oh holy this perfect light and dark

that yet house us, deserving or not.