(Sun threw away the mist - strengthened Clarity.)

The years’ thoughts returned like trees that lay to wither,
long rummaging inside already bloomed and set for Winter
to out of the soil’s wisdom - from The Worlds’ demands - be returned.

Rooted. A trunk has always fair wind and head wind. Holding firm.

Taking up more value.


Time’s only way is The Path where steps taken accept their liability
aside the risen earthwork brimful with Leaves, Water and Wind,
and not very sparse is between getting coaxed by The Gods’ Answer.

I am close now.


Sending down, prematurely, Your curing love-work
so as, according to Nature, to reform our assets:


Still owning the heart that refused Life being a patchwork;
and getting to hear that Will was seated up in the treetops
so toilsome to reach - step over - become to my life’s work.

Want finally with blood hew forth Holy Knowledge’s Bridge,
finding the worthy Viet being gathered in our world
there we restless can be collected home in Asgard; true peace and rest.