Confusions Of Confucius Poem by James McLain

Con fessions say every thing
you tell me.
Talking leaves, enchanted is
with the wind,
blown from you to me.
Karen you will never know,
she is from the other world.
Her con fessions mark every
rock, pebbleless without a river,
or stream to lodge her.
Yet your con fessions, come still
seeking fresh hands, held up an
offering heard, not by you but of you.
Being herd, the tailed kite flies anew.
Though your thoughts come from
all directions, channeled into one they
are.
One falcon, your wrist hides, heedless
shooting ever upward,
flying strait into the eye that offended you
plucked forth,
it shares it with you, knowing you will
see all that was missed, when next
you fly to kiss,
a claw feathered fresh in a talon.