dodona oak (the tree of life) sheds leaves nutritious-which feeds blood and mind today there’s not a jot (from which the present cleaves) can be dispensed with – all life’s array from first to last has leaf-mould in its clay eve is that apple she took her bite from the best and worst can’t thwart its dna head-shaking won’t dislodge that first aplomb which even now keeps thought under its thumb
so much in self cries out to be made clear a yearning glimpse confused by so much bracken a touch of gold the sun wrings from the drear and lightest hopes too often seem to thicken fulfilments near at hand come cradled stricken (oh read the cards – they’re face down in the mud) but figures at the dawnside faintly beckon step back from grief or wrath – an untouched bud dares to suggest a wisp of hidden good
not to be made too much of but discerned and wrought into a pendant (gold inlaid) where tree and flesh (symbolically concerned) look to a future longing for their trade the apples fall but core is not dismayed behaviour’s but a passing itch or sneeze (a moment’s cost but plaster-cast not jade) in caverns long sight-lost an ancient frieze cries for new eyes again (a smarter breeze)