The wonderful part of this world
Is that there are no parts to this,
And we know it. We know it well
Enough to invent fine nonsense
Such as names, syntax, virtues, sin,
Directions, insides, outsides, sides
To choose, rules for choosing, ruptures.
The best part of the forest is,
Simply is, where the roots and rocks,
Fungal hydraulics, dreaming mice,
Bacteria, bones, and poems fuse
And are one. No one can be one.
Not one. Only everyone can,
And that's the whispered mystery.
We know that we aren't as we are.