Kick the tree.

The tree is a bone

cut out from the Earth.

Jump on the pavement and crack

it with the force of your rage.


Withering is not an option,

white-knuckling it

at the hidden horizon is keeping

you alive.

But it is futile, an out-of-tune song

wrestling for a harmony it will never find.


Praise the shellfish, the moles underground.

A world of faith is forming on your tongue –

you can taste it, but it is not enough

to satiate.


Release desperation and the anger that follows.

Feeling imprisoned was your default position

when being shepherded into reality.

Now you are new like Adam and like Eve

you died in brutal increments

and in brutal increments

you are being reborn from time,

unlike Adam, unlike Eve.


The stream you see is a blessing. The wind

is all around, and sometimes when listening,

it is faraway instruction. Other times,

it topples you over from its reeling power and at that time

you know for certain God is God

and there are no substitutes or shortcuts

or sure-fire prophecies

that will ease the fear of unknowing.


There is just that wind that says

‘Go here’ ‘Go there’ and when there,

maps out

an unexpected direction.



Copyright © 2020 by Allison Grayhurst



First published in “Synchronized Chaos” September 2020



You can listen to the poem by clicking below:

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