(1.)

creating hidden avenues
like the river that runs without rest
to where the autumn reds
freeze time in the minds of men

the dog
plays a tug of war
with his patience
a ways down the path
waiting for me to catch up again

as I shower
in the dappled light
dripping down from the blue void
through canopies trembling

and my mind tells me
that red and blue
are supposed to make purple
to make veins
to make dusk

but my skin only glows
with the color of the sun
as my head collects my steps
to someday
dream itself back there.

(2.)

and maybe they
who spoke with wooden tongues
in times long gone
would have understood
what that was like

to be a riverbank

when not the water
nor the light
nor the wind
nor time
is either dead or present

maybe they knew
the reason
why snails so gracefully raise their heads
to greet the rain
like they’re taking a bow
upside down

if not to be a riverbank?

if not to hark
the words of water
shaken loose
from tongues of sky?

if not to be dreamt somewhere.

(3.)

and perhaps
our time on this earth
isn’t defined by time at all

but proximity
to one’s self
and all self

and if so?

how close did you get?

and how many tries did that take?

and how many times
did you swear
you would never try again?

and how many of those times
were true
in the end?

and do you regret
leaving those parts of yourself
lonely for you?

or did your roots
suddenly call upon them
in unexpected ways

to breathe light
change colors
and greet the rain?

yes,

I think
how deep do you go?
is a more intimate question
than how far will you get?

because one implies
we all fall short
and the other
needs nothing more.

so,

how deep you did you go?