I.

Between the bonneting trees I weave:
                                          mindless,
mindful, meandering.

Some distant elder holds the fog-netting;
                   I am caught
in the strange liberty of ignorance.

Trails compelled by motion too subtle to see
                                           weltering off
in every direction possible,
                                    into purple oblivion,
lead me further past the caution
                 I equipped
on my sash at the entrance to woodland glade.

II.

What is past the white-green sentry?
      sword-and-scabbard-dulled,
a warrior's query.

Along the russet boundary,
                my hope burgeoning,
I found the fountainhead's heart.

Sink me into worn grooves—
                                     past all flaws.

Lock me into gates of light
                  to be healed
through spirit-thrumming sync
          in surreal locale.

III.

The arrhythmia of temp'ral wings
              banished by ordinary ecstasy
traces me in its disjunct shadow.

In the pastel intersection of forms
       I am liberated
from the extremes that stalk me.

I am blurred
                into mindfullessness
by bonneting trees.