28 May 17 – At and For My Feet

the hollows of pinecone
arranged in whorls of geometric specificity
lure me to their labyrinthian desire

I am trapped and confused
wandering criss crossed avenues
of no dimension, no answers, no destiny.

Graduated growths culture tomorrow’s life
Can I parse their language of renewal?
Will you share your seeds of wonderment?

Round, round, rolling, tossing cone:
All those secret hiding places catch the wind,
The air-wind that dries your fingertips
To release tomorrow’s news.

I need these roads of no dimension
These bridges from symbol to meaning
Oh, cone, pull me with your fate to fathom
Universal cycles ‘neath the stars.

This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s