From November 21, 2012
Ramble
The river smells of ghosts again.
Sometimes we worry they’re our own —
that this rambling brings us
to no good end.
Was a time
we were strong and settled.
Now is expectation —
and we must trust
attentiveness
to take on what defense
we can no longer manage.
And we should be so lucky:
that something might happen
to break the intensity
of this day-to-day.
But this loneliness we looked for
dominates.
We celebrate
the dark and the dead,
and can wish it were otherwise —
but know
you will never find us here.
And the answers
are dust —
something to be found out
and cleared away.
looking for roots 