I’m the one
you claim to know
yet never knew (for certain)
a mystery configured
to flesh
(the scent of pine).

A question never wanting
for an answer (who am I) –
the place where you become
and I am (real).

A place removed
from that you know –
half way across the field –
three rows of corn
and I the fourth (shall be).

Come
and I will show you
(stay) and you will see –
much more than (even) you
would dare conceive.
Far more than you would tell
else they brand you (as a fool) –
some glorified perversion
of the truth.

But I am more
than words can keep –
much more than rust and will –
a story long retold
(with disbelief).

Touch me now
and know of things
you cannot speak (aloud) –
for to give a voice to wonder
is a sin.

A luna moth
a red tailed hawk
a memory you’ve forsaken –
worlds to separate you
from the place (that holds your name).
Would take the form
of yellow wings
ablaze on lapis skies.

Turn your face into the light
and breathe (another morning).
Tis not so far to wander –
beyond the same
you know.