In sun and in rain,
Toils of broken soles and blistered palms.
And the journey, tedious, ends in the dank
Leaves of a breathless forest; so rancid the undergrowth,
Hissing signals of danger in the darkest foliage of mankind.
I cringed alone.
So unkempt this unholy place, where the sun is
Mocked; so ungraceful, yet so glorious.
So cautious these woods, where the panthers,
At noon, watch with the keenest of eyes, silent.
Cadaverous each leaning wood, and misleading,
Every thorny path and track . . .
I have journeyed,
And so precious my journey that I seek life among
The living, and have thus toiled until I gathered and
Garnered the speckled pages of the apothecary’s creed.
Now the leaves in the cauldron boil, squeezed!
The content stored for squirting life into the living.