Though it burns my fingers and it suddenly mists
My vision over with fog on lenses lost to see,
I carry you, secret, a warmth between my fists.
You tend to surface gently inside of each song
And re-flourish afresh on the words that you wrote
So transient it seems that I must have it wrong
And these thoughts cram all in, try to stop up my throat.
I've found you in forests where deep boughs surround
Enfolding me, truthful, and I do what I must
As stark wind just ripples a lone frantic heart crowned
With being, just being, in the midst of all dust.
Bright moss springs up behind each step across my heart
That flows the faintly dire of each moment into art.
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