Tastings in the Tinglewoods

In the bearings of the beautiful

Lingerings of the light

In my tastings in the tinglewoods

Ripe rimmings fire red

In the rivers writing wreaths of things  

Circles of my soul

In those were further wings within

Soft spinnings burnt and bled            

In the playings of the plentiful

Weavings of the willow

In my graspings in the tangible

Swift singings glad and bold

Many cornered are my pathways

Calling the melodic

In those were fillings up inside

Fed runnings hid within

In the leavings letting go awhile

Spillings of my will

In my surgings in the sounds of things

Bright learnings rippling through