13 March 2012

The Wildflowers

Getting lost in it is as good as any way.
No longer able to fix where you are in place of others.
Notions of ahead, behind, over and under weld together by the same flame;
crystallize in the same ice for a million years between ages.
All the springs that ever sprung,
move the wind that carries the primordial dust along --
to learn we’re not statues.
Finding time belong-side the tumbling weeds,
there, the wildflowers are.