Tuesday, April 22, 2014

DEATH OF A TREE

Over and over
again—to your own

darkly folded-
up and 

stiff self
you'll try muttering

something
a little snappier

like—time is so huge!
and so 

vast! and 
so giant—and you'll 
eventually feel

the fine province 
of your own
mentality expanding—

like you could spread 
your hardening 

hands wide
and grab hold of 
bold lots of it!—suddenly;

without ever even 
coming close 
to exhausting a stitch of it.

Only—by the late afternoon
on which any 
of that happens

you may come
to be bent 
by just such a gracious

and soft realization—
that you don't really have

to keep reaching
for the 
inexhaustible,  

let alone continue 
to wear 
such stiflingly 

unlimited—
crown of it anymore.

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