As a man grows into the years digging into the moist earth a tunnel of years

His talk on any occasion Returns to the past The threads of experience coiled inside him, root like, hold voice, sights, joys and griefs.

But I desire more than the growth of roots. I desire the upward thrust of the trunk, the spread of branches, the growth of fruit, the fall of leaves.

I desire one continuous unfurling into the changing and constant light.