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.