Fifteenth of Nisan

For nearly fifty years I was
Unfamiliar with fig trees
Had never seen one

When we bought a lot with
A fig I didn't know it and
Whatever it was seemed dead

I cut it to ground
Burning its branches with
All the winter refuse

But by summer solstice
Three stalks had sprouted
Unusual leaves unfurled

Curiosity and neglect
Granting just
Enough to grow

Late summer
Surprised by
Nubby sprouts

That ripened
By late September
Into mini-amphorae

Fleshy vessels filled
With sweet urgency
Ancient analogies

Now taller than I am
Harvests abounding
Filling the fridge

Added to salads with
Walnuts and goat cheese
Topping our ice cream

Even better just itself
Seconds separated
From the tree

Yet even now as
Daffodils fade and
Red buds explode

The fig tree is naked
Deeply dormant
Evidently dead

While deep within
Unseen but well-known
Richly inflorescent

City Slicker

My mother bought me coats
Long after I left home
Usually for Christmas
Some years more than one

Once married she bought
Us several matching pairs
Jeannie My wife often finding
Her's too masculine

Mom has been dead three years
But walking through Central Park
This April afternoon I was warm and
Dry in her ankle length grass green slicker
But this raw rainy April I am
Warm and dry in her ankle length
Grass green slicker

City Slicker

My mother bought me coats
Long after I left home
Usually for Christmas
Some years more than one

Once married she bought
Us several matching pairs
My wife often finding
Her's too masculine

Mom has been dead three years
But walking through Central Park
This April afternoon I was warm and
Dry in her ankle length grass green slicker

My mother bought me coats
Long after I left home
Some years more than one 
Usually for Christmas
Some years more than one

Once married After marriage she bought
Us several matching pairs
But My wife often found
Her's too masculine

Mom has been dead three years 
But her little boy still wears  just wore
Her ankle length shamrock 
Green raincoat in the Spring 

Mom has been dead three years
But walking through Central Park
This April afternoon I was wearing
Her ankle length shamrock green slicker

My mother bought me coats
Long after I left home
Some years more than one
Usually for Christmas

After marriage she bought
Us several matching pairs
But my wife often found
Her's too masculine

Mom has been dead three years
But her little boy still wears
Her ankle length shamrock
Green raincoat in the Spring

 ὁμοούσιος (homoousious)

I gave up self-subverting thoughts
     Self: separated me that knows
     Subvert: turn under overthrow
As my Lenten (springtide) sacrifice:
    To make sacred (to set apart)
    As holy (heilagr) or reclaim whole

Is my self fulfilled through
More differentiation
Or enhanced assimilation
In either case: what from with what

Socrates' and Yeshua's
Apotheosistic selves
Achieved through self-
Sacrificing deference

Siddhartha suggests
Self as sensual
Yearning and
Suffering's source

Are these selves
Subverted somehow
Converted into a
Species of un-self

Am I subject: (sub-jacere: under-thrown)
One who is acted upon
Or actor: object (ob- to toward)
And who is throwing

Am I perceived presented or purpose
Perceived by you presented to whom
My purpose or yours personified
Means and ends seldom matching

Presuming to conceive how I
Diverge rather than perceive
Our convergence here
Now proximate occurrence

Might I for this moment be
Jacere: as situated (or asleep)
Intransitive and subject free
jaceo jacere jacui jacitus

Not fully known or knowing
Unable to answer how or why
But now being wholly here
Same substance: you me and universe

 ὁμοούσιος (homoouisious)

I gave up self-subverting thoughts
     Self: separated me that knows
     Subvert: turn under overthrow
As my Lenten (springtide) sacrifice:
    To make sacred (to set apart)
    As holy (heilagr) or reclaim whole

Is my self fulfilled through
More differentiation
Or enhanced assimilation
In either case: what from with what

Socrates' and Yeshua's
Apotheosistic selves
Achieved through self-
Sacrificing deference

Siddhartha suggested
Self as sensual
Yearning and
Suffering's source

Were these selves
Subverted somehow
Converted into a
Species of un-self

Am I subject: (sub-jacere: under thrown)
One who is acted upon
Or actor: object (ob-jacere: before thrown)
And who is throwing

Am I perceived presented or purpose
Perceived by you presented to whom
My purpose or yours personified
Means and ends seldom matching

Presuming to conceive how I
Diverge rather than perceive
Our convergence here, now
Proximate occurrence

Might I for this moment be
Jacere: as situated (or asleep)
Intransitive and subject free
jaceo jacere jacui jacitus

Not fully known or knowing
Unable to answer how or why
But now being wholly here
Same substance: you me and universe