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on stalks; is the concealed highway traffic's

susurrus charading as wind, as river,

as ships, while they mime to its background swish

and the Park is not cured of winter but turns

another stage on becoming's spiral

that curves on one center but keeps

exploring - never repeats its path.

II.

The feeling, at the beginning

of not feeling a beginner,

is a softening to the familiar

rooms, bodies, voices,

predictions.  To the expected

welcome, or tolerance.  Cozy,

usual at last:  a warning -

go begin elsewhere.

Admit that if you stay

their vision will correct

and corrupt yours.  Race

to begin - away; new

edged, indilute, singular

knowing waits.  Harden.

III.

What if I choose suddenly

     all my keys -

all else to be picked up

     by someone or

let lie - if I seize them all,

     turn each in each

lock, open all apertures:

     think of the free

passage!  There would be the secret

     drifting, mocked

grids, midnight, trains away,

     strangers, animals…

IV.

When I do step off

               into the dangerous romping

                              it appropriates that movement

puts out the light

               for the red dark

                              I am only following

puts out the line

               savage envelope

                              to see if I take it

V.

Being slid from a skin:

shelled or shucked and

becoming that skinless part,

gone from the known and about

ready to leave the unknown -

I would say more or call out,

but would not seem to wave

goodbye or call anyone's eye

passage demanding not claims

but some navigators' signs

for passing, latitude, visibility.

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