before you 
I was a diligence purist 
unerringly vigilant      
I strode to & fro 
in my ruined rooms 

where did it go 
the pitch-perfect rhyme     
the unfailing order      
& ardor of each  
dusty fixed form 

that restrained me  
from taking an axe  
to the roots  
of the tree   
I was sitting in 

in whose dying arms  
I finally found myself  
cradled & rocked 
by you     now  
if any order  

remains     it must  
be subcellular    
a calm I can’t see  
but must trust  
all the same  

all that rage for order  
& fury for form    
quenched     as if  
thrown down  
a mossy well 

where I dwell  
now in green balm    
this new life    
messy & wet 
& teeming with you