By the Root of the Weed

 Until all the rivers run clear, I shall bear witness to everything that does not serve my greatest good. By the root of the weed, I will pull corruptive forces out of my psychic field.

tending to  the garden

in autumn becomes

a parable of letting go

weeding, pruning dead-heading 

the dried crimson mums,

removing  blackened daisies, and

long stems of rose prickers

raking, ranting, digging,

not quitting-- querying the future

while weeding offers

a more grounded perspective 

how termites may view

this eroding world:so different

than a hawk-yet soothes

the soul to know...

 

we are never alone, camus

and doestyevsky-- we are simply

tethered to meaning, feeling,

and that brings connection

the sweetness left,

after savory reduction

through all the kitchens

of the world wielding, yielding

to become closer,

to touch, be touched

in the silence of a gray

October morning