Second trilogy, I'll read the whole trilogy, is "The Wind."
Which came first, the key or the lock?
Love or desire?
In or out?
Enclose me and climb me, call, mark, question quickly.
Ask me to doubt.
I doubt, therefore I am.
We are.
I doubt the landscape.
And at least it is.
Doubt, great smile of Descartes, pleasures the question,
who could keep everything, everything unproved?
Doubt.
My lock is a key to truth.
Doubt as a key, locks truth.
Unlocks mind pigeons to refute, to regain.
Fly through visions, nest, and sweet rocks.
The clouds for morning, peck at pain.
Truth locks this too, unlocked is love.
Watch, proverbs falling about as gold red autumn leaves
and above, whisper.
Are we impervious?
We are gold red proverbs falling.
We are love's leaves all ground red.
Leaves, wind torn, sun smoothed and passage,
hushed from tree speech, brown on the ground,
sigh against each other.
No rage, no doubt in changing.
What is found, unfound, felt or unfelt, blows by.
Winds rise, the air responds in song.
There is no ground without a sky.
No sky that does not have a song.
Softly desire love's wind word.
Stirs the laid leaves is held and heard.