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January 2025

I will myself to be the conductor

of my symphonic will,

and my body to be its hall of resonance.

what will be is what I will do,

and this too is my will.

be the resurrection and the life.

remember by never forgetting

what ought not be forgotten.

be quiet enough to hear what the corpses say,

and hold insects on each finger tip

like droplets of morning dew.

I’ll never be alone

no matter how much I may think I crave it,

for all alone is to me

is a five fingered insect

that mourns the corpses of all

that I didn’t do.

I will

the where to replace the when,

and for my now to be a fleeting feeling

that lasts forever.

every life I will ever live

wills this life I have here,

and this I will know,

the way I know how to spell my name.

be an origin story that remains an origin story,

not the memory it pretends itself to be.

what is missing will find itself

in the place its always been,

when the searching stops,

and the flower looks back at us just the same.

where will we end up

when the bottom falls out;

what then will become the ground?

the will.

it will be all there is to rest upon.

the rites of this life

will transform as we do,

reflecting what we reflect,

and I will reflect the child of me

through this refracted self.

I will remain a student of

still sturdy trees and cold rain-soaked soil,

the moss and the wet stone,

the sky,

birdsong and shining sun.

I am my will,

and I too will shine.