Branches make my argument
for free: all return to trunk,
and also to root and ground
and water and sun and soil
and gravity and blue and green
and brown.
Derivatives are derivative
of other derivatives
and essences
in essence.
Conveyances, confessions,
conceptualizations,
all these ideal frames
picture the picture
of a shuffle of a floor's deck,
carding the yard
for another leaf
on another page
in another book,
distracting the mind
from the bind that binds,
the find that finds,
the grind that ground out
to first and second and third,
home but for
the lack of patience.
That’s true! Everything comes out of the same source if we take time to trace its original details! Beautiful poem!
Thank you!