Like A Virgin

Pure

the wind in my heart
blowing dust from my lungs

exhaling the antique memories of
might have been

inhaling everything in relation to this
now and ever shall be

for all is new
in this old world

so weary and wishing
its moon back where it began

but spinning on despite itself
though standing still to evince

the fire of light through the trees
the water of sky spilling overhead

the vacuum of nature
enveloping, crystallizing all sound

a bluejay's caw caw
a pileated's rap, tap-tap

the distant, iterated bark of a dog
the paper shuffle rustle of leaves falling

the aeolian shook medicine stick
of wheatgrass basking in a bullion glow

the wind in my heart turning a weathervane
atop this nascent and aleatory world

the dust of regrets supplanted
by the purity of never going back again

image: robert rauschenberg's three panel white painting