Wildcrafting

You cannot plan a wife,
Any more than you can a home,
Or the error of a perfect life,
The random rhythms of a poem,

Without an accident of dirt,
Of the scruffy underbrush,
The tragic adolescent hurt
And crippling self-destructive crush—

Nothing artificial grows up straight,
No stylist’s makeup brush
Or stealthily acquired trait
Makes up for the wanton rush

That life’s intrusion brings,
The burst of chaos in the snow
And babble in the broken springs
That slower seasons sow,

Hiding cures to distant curses
In the prodigal, ungainly seed,
Whose downward spirals and reverses
Fulfill a certain human need

If we give them space to seep
Into those dark ponds
That, during reason’s perverse sleep,
Manufacture magic wands.

Written before December 26th, 2004

April 1, 2024
Kaiholu