Frost

The final verse is lovely

to be reminded

of that which is lovely

like the reverberation of mantra, mudra, mandala, mandorla,

is deeply nourishing

I feel to type- for the inflection/rhythm/incantation of where frost has been, of where I am...

The woods are lovely, dark and deep
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep
And miles to go before I sleep

haunting really, and without the punctuation, to me, the words continue
to

echo

e
c
h

ooooooooooo

tonight
a part of me wishes to go deeply into that forest
and in my novel I am writing into the
tangled emotional terrain of
the lost woods
the telling of the tale that is telling me


rather wild

journey well