.
We distill truth in a jungle
clearing where you learn
the native hearsay of my life
whose myths and legends
reveal my tribe's past, fetiches,
kinship and taboos.
The big picture: as a nuanced listener
and ecologist of the psyche,
you do see the forest for the trees,
but not many of my quirky tastes,
only a scattering of oases
where my curiosity dines,
just a peek at the closet meditations
where I store my moods,
rarely a health update, precious
few of my raving passions.
Did you know I've painted
my study the color
of spring light in the forest?
Or that floaters in my eyes
often plague me
with a small meteor storm?
In these cropped hours,
though our hearts devour them,
what can be known
of a life and the assemblage
it grows to embrace?
Hardly anything but the shadow
of a fragment of a trace.
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