Mushrooming.

[Guest guest]

Mushrooming

No cares around, no cares abound.

Still in the stair well, dancing on the roof

I have gone to pick mushrooms in my dreams

and the fairy folk have made a ring

where no thought bombs, my souls quiet wedding

with this my foot stepping trail in the woods.

No talking on the grass, no walking as I pass.

Sunlit glades dappled in shade and tree hugs whispering.

A flutter of pigeons sweeping the top-most canopy

of this spirit stalking path in the wild woods sanctuary.

No sounds but the earth singing, no being found

No finding and no time ringing,

where the sky bows down, where the heart pounds

as I trek my trace in the forest place

seeking a morsel for my breakfast table.

No crying of the dead, no complaints from the living.

Swallowed up in an arboreal taste and giving

due regard to the mystery of this hike

I strike a pose for nobody and nod un-thoughtful

to my no self surfing the deep fallen floor

of leaf molding in the leprechaun watching

mind marching moment for the great unseen.

No make and mending, no pretense offending.

No one here, and no there to make a stir.

Magic mushrooming and picking out my path

in the day dreaming grove of this my treasure trove

of being just this drifting through a woodland view.

And quite by chance, I am led a merry dance

to this enchanted ring of fairy friends frolicking.

No chance to panic, no picnic for delight.

Just this sight of mushrooms tilting in helter skelter,

pale umbrellas in the moss moving like magic

like bare heads waving in the mossy loam

and murmuring: Take me home and eat me soon

Eat me with fresh bread and red wine and swoon

to our fine feathered texture and remember

this way of our calling when you went walking

in the no care around wending of your dawdling dreams

and no fear following our track back to hunger.

love

eric

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