I'm kind of burned out and frazzled,
like the rowboat that leans, like the
oar with a hole, like the paddle that
no longer turns. So, present-arms it is!
Here's what I have. No challenge now.
No time for the insecure blinding, and
I don't know what I can offer anyway.
There's an oak tree in my living room;
thirty feet high, with sacred green leaves
that never wither or die. Never fall, and
never Fall. How's that for certainty.