I walk along the rained-on path.
The winds blow hard, gusts unabated.
The branches fall and strike my shins.
The wind directions change at random.
It’s nature’s way to give a bath…
I wish, although, that it had waited.
How can we know our prime direction…
this question’s simpler than it seems.
We presuppose an inner knowledge.
about the places we want to go to.
The signals’re there for our perception…
they offer us a robust means.
Our conscious wills are like encampments,
besieged by inner drives unconscious…
whose energies we can’t constrain.
Instead we’ll need accommodation
in order ‘union to commence…
and thus our powers coalesce.
The cool of breeze and heat of sun
caress the skin of morning walkers,
whose hips and feet with swaying strutting
and voices in high register,
meld world and self in full expression
and make an instant’s universe.