Something Innate
Would not stay put with tether cut,
would leave its corrugated hut
to feed on berries and the nut ;
all mackintosh with string waist,
split boot on the open road,
worn leather from the tarmac's goad,
lover of the aimless fork
and the wayward milestone ;
drawn on by life, surpassing
as the sky-line constantly recedes,
supine in a fungal dell,
high on cloudless night,
receiving there through venal wires
tomorrow's bearing from the stars.
(From mysticseed)
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