I’ve been coming home for months.
I am so tired of the doing of it wrong.
There is the wind
and there are the trees
moving.
Which is it
we are talking about?
*
I blow hard, I lose leaves,
—the symbiotic tree tops, the storms
strumming branches, and arms
pointing everywhere—
*
I blew hard, I lost leaves,
but I am rooted in the soil of the truth
and not the hydroponics of belief.
*
What I see and what I see
of you, this will do for truth; the
temperature today, in the raindrop
or the shadow, not in what is forecast for tomorrow.
the question at the end of part 1 reminds me of Yeats – same sort question he asks. I dig this lots, Dean: a living, subjective truth, rooted, as you say, in the soil. Great.
Great piece, Dean, that last stanza is marvellously stated, I feel the temperature of the ‘rain drop’ or ‘shadow’, and tomorrow who can say:
What I see and what I see
of you, this will do for truth; the
temperature today, in the raindrop
or the shadow, not in what is forecast for tomorrow