Sing a plainsong

A sailing leaf turns in circles a clear sky
mocks the dark outline of a hawk 30 feet up

I enter the magic of silence:
my eyes transfixed--glassed over
the heart, soul, mind and strength--pulled along on funneling thermals
sink down through whipping, winding trails in the middle of swirling logic

dizzy

I remember what one man said about the woods:
how dark and deep and still with solstice winter's chill and pall
I linger sirened out of mind in isolation
too long, too still, too deep, too dark
the way I came too far back--

I lift my head, my swimming, prodigal head
to find the straight path--the narrow way
marked well
with Humility's warmth.

This is the way I see it going down

December starlight--frost and snow and clear black sky--
ruthless magic steals away the logic and reason;
beguiles innocently
broken down thought covered over in plastic empirical science

a wrapped mystery
an intoxicating, outlandish and ancient idea;
no, a story, no a person
yes to all of those

strangely grateful and foolish
not to have believed
but to have waited so long in a cold, deep deception