constructs
at first appear so close
so similar
made of the same
as I look closer
although made from drift wood
they are very different
wood washed up
from time itself
and I don't understand
I sit under the one of my own choosing
it is strong
someone with the hard experience of collapse built this
and this tripod
this dome
I don't need it
but for a little while
it interested me
and if it fell
upon me
I wouldn't feel
I would just wonder why
and itself
would offer no rhyme
nor reason
the wood just wanted
and then did not
and drifted apart
away
selfish sticks
went there own way
or did a gust
or the breeze
push it to sway?
I question the reality
the zen heart of me
accepts
means little too me
just
things
they come
they go
tidal
moon driven
and the structure
gave it strength
and the love in me
let me bend
limb like
it would be silly
to ask
does this drift wood care for me?
did it ever?
I know I did
I do
but I sit back
respectfully quiet for you
there is no door
sand is the floor
im too free
to be limited by the reasoning
loves comes and go
add spice for the seasoning
I never knew you
I do not recognise this person
all the words
then the swift conversion
ha!
how do you paint me
what attributes to you draw
cast the blame on me
frighten yourself with me
and you know what you wish
and you know nothing
of me
only who I tired to be
and your focus
do I miss you?
you stepped over invisible boundaries
did you think I had non?
back in the tepee
there is no you and me
inside in this tepee
I am who I always have been
free
free
free
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