Yes, in the Middle of the Foggy Night

​Yes, in the middle of the foggy night,
Where the road sign that says west points east,
Where you began walking in speculation
And gradually, the lies and darkness increased,

There are lights that cut through all the grease,
Men along the road who should be kings,
Whose word should be law and resolution,
Whose lungs are lit with living, dazzling

Clarities. You can see the same
Higher up, you can meet these hidden
Men who, inside themselves, are giant,
(Only confusion says that it is forbidden

To see) the might of humility,
They too are yearning to be free,
And that freedom comes from the marshy dark,
The fibrous tangles, the debris

Of brambles and scarp. They can see
Holy freedom, and how strong
She is, walking on the trail
That wraps around the bluff, no wrong

Invades that space, behind the pines,
Behind the ridges, behind the lakes,
Where mountains lived, before life
Congealed into laws and aches,

And when we roll upon the roads
Of holy algorithms, then
Holy lampposts radiate the light
That tumbles from the first amen.