The way to you
Had I but had
a picture of that
I’d trace the path
that runs from shore
to the steps
to the porch
to your front door
A tree grows in Haarlem
You rained in me
Not everyday
but twice on a Tuesday
and then not again
until I’d
dried every drop
considering
Today’s game
Fossil
I, too, knew
the sap-filled swaying
and time of dominance, when I grew.
Though the river took me, I didn’t complain.
I was abroad with my old friend, the rain.
And now, if stuck and hardened by years,
I never give in to nonsensical fears.
There are worse things to be
than a pebble worn smooth.
Ride a strong image
Not some nag of abstraction
who knows neither her mind
nor yours





