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.
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