He
(in the kitchen
while I word,
soup and bread)
mind my broken gait,
add no weight.
He
(we and me)
bend and walk
into wood,
onto prairie,
downto river.
Together alone
(together, alone).
He
(me, we) —
sing silent
reciprocity of receptivity,
gentle,
irresistible persuasion
toward Right Action.
And always the opened cage —
the migratory
and minute rhythms
of a life on the earth.
Train’s sibilance,
he from fog —
somewhere,
somewhen —
we (he, me),
open-hearted,
healed,
whole.
The deepest cut cannot heal.
Nightshadow, reflecting pool,
I fall in.
(wrongminded, hardhearted, blind —
senseless, indeed.)
Maybe who really looks finds.
(endless ditch, wrecks, skeletons, longlost.)
And no wonder, godfaith,
and no wonder selfdestruct —
the commonest mistakes,
aren’t they?
(are they?)
The diverging trails grown dark,
a thirdway appears.
(we hope.)
In longing for the middle,
pathless path,
we imagine stable.
We imagine steady.
(it was never thus.)
And there is a something —
between standing still and stepping
sloweyed, movement imperceptible.
(in whatever direction.)
Again to knee —
(oh You gods and guides —
oh You angels and ancestors) —
help me find and pull the thorn.
Help us find our footing
amidst the ruin.
looking for roots 