like the wind
rattles the leaves from their home
on bent and mangled branches
like the water
flows vigorously, rubbing the smooth
stone where the river makes its bed
that being in nature
the all-knowing and pervasive being
so too does that being ache for its home
among the aging branches
to climb in them and make a concrete bed
and chill from the wind
a deep sense of isolation and desolate existence
and flow like the water through that desolation
the fluidity of existence becomes the mortar of home
flooding of the soul
with love and spiritual knowing
becomes numbness
and aversion of affect
alone in that natural
universal
and unique concrete fluidity
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