Winding

 

Give me a winding path
    that leads nowhere
        and I'll follow.
Give me the straight and narrow
    that leads right to the goal,
        I'll veer off-trail
where heather and woodbine
    thicken, and a thrush
        babbles no instruction.
Now is the first day of the year,
    oh so cold I'll follow my roots
        down into the hollow
where fur and larvae dream
    of flowers, and seeds
        lie awake in the dark,
witnessing the long
    quiet luminous breath
        of Winter.