Oak leaves - I taste them in my mind.
And smell the poplar's fallen foliage,
breaking down, re-making me.
The moon is always hidden.
Aletheia undisclosed.
I can't know the whole truth -
just enough.
Push aside the branches! Blow, winds!
Disperse those clouded veils!
No... the black dogs would hunt me down,
tear enlightenment from me -
teeth bleached by moonshine
as sharp as a clipped crescent
as ravening as the tides.
There's only so much an earth-bound mortal
can take.
How did you produce such an image on the front page? ... The poem is both earthly and unearthly; and it feels so much like late November and so much like what it means to search. And how humans can handle only so much. Powerful imagery of our connections with the universe.