The Brook

That last piece of unclaimed land In the village Is claimed, And the deer gather As if they know, As dawn brings A returning sun To lick the grass with light, While the brook Gurgles with its secrets Understanding The peace of being untouchable Along with a triangle Of Canadian geese Whose sky song Remembers The south They’re heading down to now... And still I look for you In the dungarees you wear Day in and day out, Like a second skin Changing the disorder you swim in Back to wholesome Once more, So I don’t have to ask About the past And the brook Smirks Into a picture perfect array of clarity, A knowing that the mystery itself Sits with a golden crown upon a throne Hidden in the forest of thought.