surrender

I have been thinking of
pride lately, how it coils
itself around the Wound, 
becomes intractable as
barbed wire strangling the
excuse of an old fence-tree. 
you are full of it 
dear world, we are all full
of it, and the clouds thicken. 
could be birds, dark birds
or thunderheads 
but I am not afraid
also remembering
what the rain is really for
what the oak does with
lightning, what it is the cracked
earth really wants, 
and I am thinking of surrender,
a prehistoric art.
​