All this in a swift imagination … all the while searching for the grounding bass that brings the soul to rest amid the drive of life.

The wilderness is the space to which I must go, the desert, to reclaim what the locusts have eaten.

What is truly me, the real self.

Shading grey soups barren tree-shapes

Standing sentinel, creation poking from

Perpetual hardness of brick and stone and

block.

Somehow furtive, sometimes free

I still run, searching for what I used to know.

Then, a memory---

I long for place

I seek for Real