There’s only one true path.
Merely peer through the tree tops to find it,
encircled in the highest branches,
not the rain forest’s emergent stems and leaves, a promise
of fresh air, nourishing humanity’s lungful laments,
but the sun-baked, burnt autumn decay
of political scrum,
the aftermath of billions of steps on a trodden trail.
I look up through the turmoil and treason,
and see the sun, dying brilliantly before eternity,
held in a heart’s center,
divine cell of my own making.