Tuesday, February 7, 2023


Like invisible wind stirring 
phantom leaves 

on a dead-
to-the-world old 
elm tree in February, 

so you, too 
reshuffle reams 
of dull memories 

to which you still cling, though 
you never seemed
to live-through.

You see obscure eternities
meandering forever, 

while recalling 
with clarity, that it all started 

Just for now, all your fear 
can be turned 

to resemble 
what you'd called, in your 
foolish youth, "wonder,"

while the confusion, 
which looms in the darkness
at its center

both attracts and 
consumes you—

like a massive 
black hole in the middle 
of the universe

and a huge, heavy whetstone 
which your strength
will not move—even as 

you somehow use it 
to sharpen-up
your truth.