A Fresh Poem for the Weekend

"Of Bracken, and Other Natural Fractals, as an Image of the Unfurling Soul"

First, a note.

Since my quiet launch of The Rose Fire on Wednesday, I have been overwhelmed by the excitement, generosity, and support that you all have shown for this idea. To be honest, my fear is that only the crickets will chirp for any new venture, and I am humbled that so many of you are with me in seeing the vision for these simple dispatches. I am dreadfully nervous about letting you all down somehow (I know, I know), but I believe we have made a good beginning, and I will strive to keep that goodness going.

In that spirit, I will, from time to time, share a fresh poem here. For all the other work and writing I do, I wish to one day be thought of as a poet more than anything, if indeed I am thought of at all (doubtful!), in terms of my relationship to literature.

You may view a reading of this over on X/Twitter/Whatever Elon Calls It, you may read it here, and (for those lending their support through a paid subscription, there are some thoughts that follow below which I hope will illuminate the core of the poem (which I hope is of a depth that belies the simplicity of its form) and say something meaningful to you.

Of Bracken, and Other Natural Fractals, as an Image of the Unfurling Soul

The light, the low,
The stooped, the slow,
The way that ferns and crystals grow.

The harsh, the kind,
The marsh, the mind, 
The kingdoms that the children find.

The trunk, the tree,
The hive, the bee,
The way the world is shaped like me. 

The prick, the prayer,
The when, the where,
The way that there is something there.

The branch, the leaf, 
The hand, the thief, 
The way that we grow toward each grief. 

The love, the grace
The frond, the face
The way I see it every place.