April

In the earnest morning of my latest being
I search for socks that match and a face in the mirror
That is well composed to meet the encounters
That will make me stretch my discernment
Of what makes this world tick
In the seamless experience of time.

When really, the winds of god
Pull at us like rooted trees in a tornado
Resistant to the power and leaning haplessly
To the intense and almost pleasurable delight of change.