These things we push away from us
dirty, scarred, ripped and torn
are half shells of truth
stripped down to the bone,
their wings now debt.
These learned, sidestepped paths
that took me down to those hollow veins
and shone in a grimy light
the ways in which I was
Or that or this,
knocking every one down with splintered bats
from sidewinder curves
These will not be soul-breaking labors.
The births that mark time on this strange tree
have no power to make me less,
only more true
and more true.
a solar flare of deeper law
that brings me home.