Crows have picked all sanctimonious bones from my husk, so over the hill
Doubts hurl about in the frenzy of drafty April’s afternoon
Theologians with their vestments of velvet billowing from the tundras
could never let their fibers flounder in the stance of this jubilee
This epiphany defies sectarian gospel
So much so, any shallow impetus…neither could not or would not, draw a rebirth improvisation from established misery
A sense of victory weaves as poetic vines in circles around the lies once fed
The earth does not grow beneath a prostrate bed
Where the light and dark meet…
a hidden trail.
And, it is there, I believe I am free.
My notions and ideals enhance under the ambiance of flowing greenery.
Life is embellished in…sights unseen.
But of course, I am not a consultant to nature.
An adviser to the woods, I will never be.
Still for a fleeting moment…I am free.
An essence of cow burns with the sun.
Such like lamp-oil and sulfur from a wooden match.
Emerald blades of grass covet my senses.
The day is dawning…it has recently begun.
Life among the living is an overnight sensation.
An elemental rebirth.
This stipend for me?
A clinging, a wanting to be amid the earth.
The nature of things flows with a certain beauty that tangles with despair.
Only a small allowance that lets my mind repair.
Declining to the soil.
An unearthing is too soon a toil.
As the ravaged trees…breathe, ‘a sigh of relief.’
The ground embraces a reminder of a savior’s grace.
Alas, all emerges free.
As far as, I am privileged to see, there is no need for organized spirituality.
Pockets of snow remain the last vestiges …
Glacial reminders of being untamed.
Welcomed are the tufts of emerald blades, virgin and well-defined.
Rural…is the only thought that comes to mind.
Just a stumble down the rabbit hole.
Milky, mixed, substances found in the earth.
Or, within a book.
Co-existing with rebirth, rebirth, rebirth.
Catalyst for a change?
For all one knows.
Careful, careless, creations of still-life in strife.
‘If it is all the same’ no organic notoriety for the change.
‘If it is all the same’ particles keep falling in the ‘race’ to maintain.