Ursa Soi


Land of grown form
beneath softened feet,

breathing mist of
soil and green,
a haze past noon.

Tilling, revealing, churning,
and sifting soil from root,
I came upon the treasure
of time, the golden royal fruit.


A coiling dancer, matter darkened
and damp, eased lithe and curved;

brain and bone, the sinew bending
in pump and blood, sweat, the work of action.
Steam, and cooling salts to sink the heat
bathe the shadow-screen witness in kinetic vapours.


The gases of proportional thought
crsytalize in the alembic, faithfully
prepared for dissolution. Again,
and still further -

the eyes open
in nested wonder -
fourwise, then up.

See! Seeing
the hawk see,


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