Enfolding

for Sarah Johnston – happy birthday

There were ideal forms once,

seen in a past life.

Brought forth by strokes,

short graphite lines adding up,

forming the ideal that once was –

my hands tire.

And these varied flavors,

sour and sweet and fresh,

that last one perhaps

above all. Again I find

that key element, no

collapse into sameness,

but even the tongue

needs parsley.

We think beauty arises

from the earth’s green,

or the mist’s gray.

But I know what

would sustain

my vision,

my feeling,

and it would not be me,

or it.