No Talent For Certainty

arms held out, he balances
upon the wood that's left
of what was there,

the shallows, always breathing,
never leaving,

at nine years old,
and wondering why
these so-large friends
speak languages unknown

yet understood

i travel so my heart can breathe
i drive because i have to look
there's something in a different place
that i can't get from screen or book

perspective narrows within walls
and so i voyage as i do
to try to widen out again
to see what's good

and real

and true

the winds and rain erode,
and fire takes away;
whatever we may build
will crumble down, one day.

but things aren't therefore meaningless.
there's beauty in invention:
just know, that all we do must needs
have time as a 

dimension

behind the gate lies {genus}
that's all that's resident --
don't bother with the {species}
for that's irrelevant

for we have words, that's all we need
to understand the fates --
and humans are reducible
to general traits

when all the color drains away
and outline only stays
there's just the content of our minds
and habits of our days

that tells us what to value
and leads us to confirm
just what we see as human
and what we see

as worm

the waves caress the boat,
the boat explores the shore,
i look on silently
and wonder more

at love, and how it manifests --
at hope, and how it shows --
and how, though time seems merciless,
a good thing

grows

And now, the secret symbols of our destinies
Lay written in a long-forgotten wood
Where few will ever go, as unexpressed unease
Hangs o’er us, everywhere, misunderstood

Like history, not told to us complete or real,
Like all around, when none around can see,
The mulch that soon will cover all our modernness,
The path of overgrowth that’s destiny.