Strike not the least cleft into the original wood
lest your head should split from sheer fright
and joy should fade as thoughts rise
like vapor in the porous mind.
Happily, the timeless, selfsame wood
ever remains uncleaved in flawless mystery,
even as the mind proudly swings its ax,
creating a ceaseless cascade of evanescent sparks.
The old oak stands firm.
It is the mind that bends and groans
in the wind-swept space of its own design.