My soul compromised by elements

Lost amongst these big-tooth maples,
who are lost themselves
within these secluded hill country canyons,
I search for the hidden spring,
the one that bubbles to the surface
naturally, like a rising tide
through this crusted terranium,
by the sheer force of its ultimate source.

There is no map,
no trail to follow,
just the momentum of footsteps
and the knowledge that you have to go
because you know you've been here before.

Elusive, subliminal glimpses
dance through a colonnade of shadows,
electron sparks strobe spiderwebs of
connected, unconscious cognition,
gurgles echo from tree to tree,
hinting of origin, of original thought,
obscured by brush but waiting
for reorientation.

It seems important
that I continue to move on.

I accept no sense of purpose,
a paradox only instinct understands,
corporeal goals now insignificant
in this ambiguous quest
for the bubbling thought,
for the gurgling word,
this evidence of gushing life,
the metaphor within us all.

Maybe I will always be looking
and never find what I seek, or
maybe I already have. Maybe
I will sit down now and construct
rainbows in the shafts of sun,
lost deep within these maples,
my soul compromised by elements.