I don’t belong in the concrete world.
It’s too hot for my feet
too electric for my soul.
When they ask me what I do
    I say
I count the leaves
    on any given tree
        and try not to cry too loudly

 as I contemplate the complexity.

Man hath made no replicable beauty
to you
    O Willow.
Great spires of lumbering wisdom
you spend your days reaching
towards Heaven in holy reverence
    & yet maintaining ground
        you snuggle into a sense of permanence.
No shear can tame you
for the patient majesty is internal
and will outlive the capital
that stands against you.
It is here,
    in your berth
        in your air
    I exist.
I lean my ear against your warm body
& listen to my soul breathe–
–I wonder if it always sounds like that
so close and desperate.
I fill notebook upon notebook
with lists of needs–
    –I wonder what it is that you need.
What might it be like to live needless?
To pray boldly revere constantly
    remain permanent?
The more I discover my self,
the more questions I ask
the more grateful I am
to feel scattered;
a reminder to me that I’m listening.

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