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.