The Redwood Temple

Fear of ars poetica
overtakes the unwritten
poem. An anguish will
gather the wild thoughts.

From autumn to
the spring, I took to you
like a scream at the sunset.

I didn't omit you
elliptically ever. The moon
was your watchman,
I tended to slip.

Take a walk with me―
like the shadow. Sometimes
I feel very lonely. Needed
an alter ego to share my angst.

The Zen has invaded my roots.