It was there
on woodland’s playground
when I first knew
something stirs very wrong.
I was blind to balls
hurled at me,
being It is not why I grow my mind and body,
or is it?
I am “It!”
or at least half It.
It and I play best alone.
He slows down
to notice ocean surf
waving back and forth
an ocean sighing Hi, then low,
creeping in and sucking out.
It both hugs and climbs trees
to the very top
on windy ways
to wave back.
Why is It so shy?
Or, am I hiding her-him,
I’m not sure,
some of both
but too androgynous Him
fears no one else notices
surf rolls in and reverses out.
It knows bi-natured law
prehensile full-bodied grasp
of organic life’s humorous ambiguity
righteous equivalent functions and flows
of yang with yin within,
as to come,
as to belong now,
It’s so hard to not love
expose cooperatively unbalancing It.
S/he is soo… much fun!
laughs with everyone
generous enough to return this fine favor.
It’s polypathic polyculturing
binomial binary buddha brain
saturates flowering rain
dissects words to heal disharmonic logos
through permacultured alchemy linguistics,
a language It fears to ultimately find
It chooses Red Rover
plays teacher with girls
over driving trucks and trains,
thinks compulsively about this problem of evil
while watching Leave it to Beaver,
where Father Knows Best,
over pitching stones and driving tractor.
It feels older and wiser than Him
but they are born twins
or so it seems
but It mysteriously explores incarnating cycles,
watching double-funneling raincloud whirlwinds
wind wending Elder ways
etching whorlwaters in our sea of shared identity,
or is whipping wind following whirling water,
but certainly both?
It abhors stability,
but adores regenerating solidarity.
It mentors ecotherapy with trees and me,
shows me boundary issues and branch
functions and frequencies
between August’s Yangish fire
and winter’s quenching white snow and ice,
between autumn’s wind falling regenetic harvest
and spring’s diastolic succulent soil
growing new perennial rings in this life’s tree,
new leaves of grass-fed hope
new polyculture basic, simple-rich compost
new incarnating multisystemic
resonant within evil’s missing
non-polynomial dislogical pace,
new flowers and fruit
for Eden’s farm.
Did I just call It a fruit
Shit happens inside our playground,
while planning more polyculturally redemptive lives.