Treadmill

For all those ragged plays of passion The tread, harsh softly, another stage presents itself, so coyly coiled in ways unknown we cannot gauge Under grieving mountains smell how wind turns on the Universe A flower bursts upon the flanks Not idly by, nor trick nor curse Justly demented, we play the game Roll double sixes, bet and mate Forced and forcing, efforts ablaze Mattering not if with joy or hate We carve again the totem pole Sway in the water, buttress anew Trying trying to seize some sense Of life, of love misunderstood few