The jungle man

Buried in the basement
of Harvard's Adams Hall,
somewhere between the laundry room
and bike storage,
the jungle man calls out to me,
his deep voice a startling burst of color
against the scarred white walls.

Stop, he says;
Don't get entangled
in this forest of shoulds, don'ts and nevers --
the words whose blades
will cut at you and cage you in --
Remember, he says,
his hands outstretched
to harvest the warmth of a butterfly,
that there is within you
a profound deep knowing of freedom.
No need to grasp:
just listen for its song
and follow it home to love.


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