There’s an awfully big picture. I’m told this is so.
They do call it a forest. I only see trees.
And each one monolithic is massive and whole.
What is outside the forest I cannot control
Nor all that which is inside. My mind clearly sees
Conflagration of detail with passion to grow.
I can move about freely. I make my own path.
I may meet other travelers and test their ways.
The big picture within the big picture, it seems,
Is the one I’m accustomed to because it teems
With more that I can handle in all of my days
Pondering its beginning and grand aftermath.
Somewhat safe in the forest, I should take some care
That the trees I encounter are worthy or not
Of wholehearted attention. The world then becomes
Not an unfriendly jungle where beating the drums
Of resentment can too often get one’s ass shot.
There are so many pathways that lead to despair.