Sketching unalterable dreams on a napkin
In a cloud burst of memories
The canons one puts one’s trust in
Presume more authenticity
And sense of boundlessness
Where truth meanders and percolates
In hearkening shadows of pasts
In contrary light forms.
As a child I loved myself first
From nature’s breath through to the marrow
As from early spring
To just before snow ski time
I move celebrating this new body
In acres of sandy fields
Laden with long golden sweet grass.
Challenging my relentless rigourousness
My first and true labours of life
Were in my private oasis
Of aberrant weeping willow trees
Set mightily old
In the midst of long abandoned farmland
They reached beyond the plateaus
Of mostly cloudless skies
Climbing, reaching, stretching
With a child’s fingers
The expansive being
Grasped at from the roof of my treehouse.
I laid bare my innocent soul
To literally encompass my trees
With my little arms
Imbued with the peaceful force
Of my open country prayers
Safe to act and feel
Even more independently on my own.
My view of receding horizons made me more
Worthy of the spheres
While the moon learns a lumbering dance
From the sparkling stars surrounding it.
Such capricious escapades
Play fanciful hot and cold
As my completeness of a day
Gathers up in my body collectively
With sound and point of motion
My seasonal legs
At one with my undaunting paths
And sky arched retreat of open heights
Each day an anxious migrancy.
Ceaseless were the days of music
In margins of towered leaves
Shouting high groves of impact
I stand among crags and plateaus
Gathering my joys among the airs
In permanent wrestling
With immortal delight and triumph.