Walking through mere snapshots
of passions of my life,
barefoot in the warm dirt,
mystery of the silent deer,
my apple tree, climbed, loved,
broken by a storm. Swinging
in my mother's arms, childhood
wrapped in her song then mailed away.
All too soon stood up, cut out,
then loosing a precious part
that runs away, refusing to bow
down to the altars of sex, love,
the mighty avalanche of chance
and destiny breaking women to make
more children and ache over them.
To win or fail, to loose identity
and finally, after a long time,
the quest to pick up,
piece by piece, the early mornings,
to call back the soul that ran away.