The White Fence

You are the white fence the blown horn the fiercest fight a green pasture at dawn you are the creek smell ...moss and black-brown peat glint of light off the trash barrel that blinds the evil driver who hits the breaks but still stopped the clock It WAS YOU who tore down the walls of Jericho you are the ticking the infinite unrelenting ticking of the clock of times-will you never stop? no matter how I hold one to another minute trying to live in them or turn away from pain by grasping them you move on Could I turn ever into your arms to embrace the atoms ...Adam of time? water flowing off the edge of the rock suspended in air a cylinder ...the perfect drop....held in time ...am I the clutter of leaves and muck that blocks the way... you are this as well You... my sunlight! you... my deepest well of darkest oxygen and "Bring us hope!" water You ....my hero my hand in the dark blackholed across the quasar-ed seas of space and time! you the paltry lightning in the storm combined are we unto birth in torrential rain... you my single perfect....timeless transformed petal on rose: "What is in a name?!" the first crocus -you! the first steps on the new path beneath willow and within wine Best of all you are the silence in the snow fort ...stay still now and just listen standing in the middle of a night while snow is falling you are the light at the end and in the farmhouse far across the field you are warm fur on tiny boned body breath of a baby near my ear you are smoky mornings along the Nile and the river Thames the Cape Canal at dawn Oh the wilk and want of it all!!! if I should bare your name up to the sky let loose the sounds of your name...let them fall from my lonely tongue what if I speak them in another language..does that still count? How did we get here to this our channel? Loom of the weave ...I ask you! the next step the next choice ...what to do now? wrap a gift in the light that shines from the sky toast with water from the stream walk the haunted hills the graveyards...where breezes blow differently from sigh to sigh the children are falling like leaves from the trees so sick is our beautiful mother tree the politics of the day blow the mind and the economy loves it..what better note of evil than this?...the money loves him! yet money is not love The tree is our love and but few a dime between us has ever passed but she is weak with too much silencing and far too little love