Am a resting windfall the storm rifted and hid
next to clean ― opening ― flowing cold wells.
Remain being sought after and true ― All that you have dreamt of.
Still aiming after the lingering clouds’ steps,
after the tentative winter sun over the spruce stripe
in glances fleeing away from this place underneath...
(Laying thoughtful seated in the ascent,
alone reluctantly agreed to leave my tracks here.)
No more faking being content, poking around in Life’s shrubs,
saying gently that the hard to interpret is your ignorance;
that the core was carved hard in my last death year.
A small misty look-in from the passed peaks:
(The hardest growth rings, rarely richly useful,
when only and always; Truth as the answer remains.)
In its dream state stuck the frost onto the dusted grey
spillage from the branches power ― wandered to The Gods’ might ―
entering over the grounds threshold: The skies recess.
Cultivated to be a Knowledgeable: An ennobled wild.