A deepening green   wildness of overwhelming   possibilities.
  
 
Fear trembles, remembers, resembles lightenment.
Day begins to heat the sky as we enter the forest
by way of the latched and faded vermillion gate, 
 
There is a trail here made of cast off cedar slabs
and red lava rock. It’s raining and poisonous mists
 
have ascended and seep into the garden from
the creek. There is fear in these woods, it arrived
the moment we stepped in. Knowing this, then 
 
being ready for it is not the same. A rain-slicked oak
leaf, a face, a terrible peering gaze has always known
 
all of our thoughts. Every painting ever seen in safety
praised into one glistening image. Frozen and sinking 
into whatever —shock— could ever hope to raise. Startled
 
into the visible from cool wet air and light, the fading
chaotic vision of some flight or fight terror reveals 
 
truth in reflection. We have seen our real face. Dervishing 
dust falls, then swims. The gathering of melted dreams. 
On the surface of this glazed mirror is the ire of stars.
 
We grasp at marvel, at splendor. A wet-cold finger traces
the dusty bevel before we plunge in. A myriad of mysteries 
 
unfold, unveil a grand forever. In the revealing though,
is the leaving. When you are gone, please remember 
you were always perfect in my eyes. We sing everlasting
 
and did our best to reflect your light, always in secret.
In secret, we did our best.
 
    
  Something does abide   branching like grandmother’s hand
to shade from scorching   and protect the young blue-green 
           Cohosh from blooming starfire.