Goodnight Park
I walk through parks
And I walk through forests
And on paths that go to places
Deerstalker cap upon a bed-headed dressed head
I examine lichen-consuming brown bark, leaves
I sit crouched and think
“Here I am,
Trapped above hypha
Not being able to go within
And truly see fruiting bodies”
Of Kentwood Park
Or of Ann and Jim
Whatever feeds these trees with the mushrooms on them
Whatever freed it needs
Whatever free’s thee
From being stuck by this river
After I place little shrooms in plastic bags
I fall behind
And I look at their backs
And I slow even more
So I can examine the hill
Taking my quill from my pocketses
Cementing history with my self-motored gizmo
Because it reminds me of how I see things
So much like myself
The ivy nestled, the riven soil to be left alone
To be seen by few, and touched by fewer
Not even recognizable until the drapes lift slowly in the morning
Rain licking wounds until it finds the answers
Able to leave peacefully
To be a part of something new
Instead of old
Something alluded to
In the words the flowers sing
And in the occasionally blistering rising sun
Somehow there will be
An obtained dream
A stranger’s voice
Somewhere
Someday
I’m a couple months late for orange trees
And a couple of months too early for constrained ice streams
But all I do is wait in my life, the time was now
For a self-grown ocean
Sprouted voices and happy beans
And to find the little hut which seemed as old as the mountains
Infected with green, children grown like jewelry
Within every nook and cranny where the wood cracked
As if they were sprouted little spleens
Not having an intended purpose
If you looked at it in that sort of way
But still, there they’d be
Planted accidental seed
No matter how much a builder would try to contain
And who would want to contain this?
Natural happenings
Such a selfish world it would mean
But someday I’ll have it my way
Bright golden trees
Stunning flowers and a beautiful woman
And all that I see when I look over my shoulder
Will not return
And a new light will get through
Even just between the circle of a little hole
Within this hut, I traveled too
Cloud Chamber for the Trees and Sky
A pinholed camera obscura
Pouring through, gleaming white light just as I recall
Life itself, as I have once lived
Time to capture a new day
Each and every day
To fill my rooms anew
