Running after trees

I mustn't fear light,
I mustn't fear love;
there are clouds over my soul
and the ground's a stark blue.
not even the sun
could heal this patient,
not even a voice
of sweet serenity
could invoke salvation...
blunt knives
are the raging raindrops!
wholesome blessings
for earth's lips-
but arctic reminders
of a shallow breath
against my ribs...
the thread between my teeth
is slowly stitching silence,
while the dying storm
around this hospice
is seeking a leave of absence;
running after trees,
counting down the years,
dreaming of equanimity.
I mustn't fear a darkroom,
I mustn't fear rejection.