COLD, WET LINES ⁵⁷

A chill accompanied the rain;
yet awashed: a Freedom the Soul then
felt almost above the forest in its green

green foliage, wringing where it tried to
melt into a warmer sort
of breeze by a striking pause within

a sense of Freedom choking the heart
Freedom! imprisoned the whatever
rain of peace to the strictures of art

Moistened, few words made up The Verse
--Ah, but a few words've downed
The Skies (& a butterfly, beauti-
fully black, flew by
out of th'tanglements of Will) to Worse
of Freedom

O, to be free!

And to be truly free one needs
to have a Heart of deadly Ice

(one which its brutal & absolute tyranny
of Cold it will never-after sacrifice
to some/any dank human warmth )

& maybe only The Heart of God it is that
Rain comes from --so cold as Hell
across some Other Such antipodal Abyss
dry as that-- through which it fell
before it came to this.