Saturday, June 18, 2011

Quincunx Twain

Why try to get away?
Why dream of falling
To the tip end
Of God's good random 
Distribution? The supreme

Law of unreason makes it
Unreasonable to wish
To reason one's way
To freedom, never
One's own decision,

But for this one
Evening and morning,
Making the seventh day,
We settle at rest 
At the far end of the scatter,
Having driven

Ourselves into another
Almost empty haven,
Having driven
Ourselves almost
To distraction to get
Here, high in the tall

Forest between the burn
And the lingering snow,
Where the only music
Comes from the framing
Streams twinned on 
Either side of our site.

All night, no one,
Not even a bear,
And in the morning,
The few, slow passing
Vehicles on the road
Below us, hours apart,

Still feel too much
Of a neighborly intrusion,
Although we too are too,
Too in need of comforting
Companionship, being family
First, and human.

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