broiled rhubarb

the body, paused and squat under the shade tree
how long it has been immobile is anyone's guess
it seethes and shifts
the contours ill-defined
a clear picture of shape is not possible
for the many see out of those eyes....

HE rises from the focal point
purpose in every line
the course set, intentions clear

SHE bends from the heart
upright, supple
a pause to review, then to journey

IT roars, creaks from the marrow
a shudder with cognizance
which agenda to follow?
a turn then shamble, and aft is sought

the radiance perpetual
all prefaced at the seat
that nave of periphery
just another aspirated itch of the divine

what is left when all have fled the hub
are uncounted bones strewn across that charred lea
each arising a scar on the trough
each journey a whimsical contrivance

chronic hope
incessant sorrow
persistant oblivion
what else is there really?
you can sit under that tree
ruminating forever if you are so inclined
me, I prefer infinity's strut