The wildflowers

are striving into October as

sunlight conspires with the

hidden in dark places.

Those un-wild, once potted, are

drying atop the compost pile.

I was out walking in the

immediate and peculiar.

I sensed within me a

labyrinth unraveling,

loosened out into a

vast realm of the new earth.

I said to the dogs, there will be

a great accounting for the

part of ourselves we have

planted in pots. When I

worry should I go back to

stake some claim in the

depleted soil of convention, instead,

the next step forward turns real and

I must take it. When I doubt a warm love for

a free faith, something immediate and

peculiar appears to bring me fire

in the hidden and dark places.

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