i i going

I trust in did
the how you do,
all ripe like Id
the one you knew,
and farther all
–than I recall
when lie of us
was trust
–like fall–
flower heads
twice tossed,
to win, the pitch
aloft—a loss
now found in been
again, and saw
–the fruit
was mossy sweet
no frost
in truth and daring
all that was
of inner grit
through outer fuzz
would trail along
a bee-strewn path,
cosmic constant
route unmapped,
of risky, tricky, sticky steps
a bracing fright
–without regrets.