Skip to main content

Thoughts on Eternity Part 1

Forget the rocks,
use the liquid logic of desert water
to understand eternity.

Desert water
lives for daily miracles,
eternity slips through her fingers.

Desert water flashes in July and August,
a path of least resistance,
uses eternity

to seduce open granite ridges.
Give water an inch,
watch it take a mile.

Sure, every river dreams
of being a mountain,
forever eating bowls

of gravel,
sand, cobbles,
boulders, on and on.

Water dreams in least resistance:
easier to be cloud bank than granite ridge.
Give an inch to thunderstorm, watch it flash a mile.

Eternity lives in water mind.
No one dare seduce the river's muse,
fools ask her age.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Death Might Be Just A Holy Rend

  Death Might Be Just A Holy Rend And life a faithful pillow - a pillow to go flat, a spirit to drift off,  glaciers to melt and raise the sea. The blueprint is clear - Expect a tiny storm of mercy–  full of crows and bottle flies to debride the corpse,  to tithe the land.      And respect the putrid demise - things that fall apart make space for miracles.   Yet there persists the memory of breath rinsed in lavender and salt air. Then the dreams for blood and semen to revive, to metabolize  every tired, sad gospel into a hatch of octopus. Death confesses everything as she conjures her necrosis, as she feigns redemption, fools us with false devotion. She believes our defiance will set her free.   We must let grief to be the thread and needle to darn the rend, renew the cloth. then we can grasp the nascent green of winter wheat in spring.

Likely Liable

Daylight cracks its brittle seam snapping apart a wish bone night. Venus has mounted Jupiter already headed for the barn; water simmers in a cracked kettle, just enough for two. And you, dark man, curled like a leather belt in the back of a dresser drawer, unfurl; I’m curled too, like paperback pages in August; we’ll meld mauve dreams and first light. I study you like a self portrait, you hover pretending to understand the chaos of shoes about the room, they lay like punctuations, a tactile Morse Code. I study these dots and dashes, you haunt my sleepy head; we crawl under apostrophes behind question marks. Your gesticulations play havoc with runway lights as I struggle to lower landing gear. Our best intentions for enhancing this entry, have arrived confused. Even so I’m grateful for awkward aubades, dark coffee and you inside my skin.

Eden

"..to be wild and perfect for a moment.." - Mary Oliver Before words, perfection dwells ubiquitous as spores on the wind, roiling over and into each molecule and moment. This little planet has emerged out of miracles five billion years. Chaos hones its lineage of mud and sun. Before words, every kaleidescoping morsel of matter enters in beauty right here, right now heartbreaking as an autumn morning, cocooned in a worship of mother to freshly born. Perfection is tragedy, perfection is harmony, perfection is lost and found. Before words, balance spans ebb and flow, underpinning what stumbles, what stands. Perfection fills a moment and moves on. Bloodhounding its trail, tongues wag and follow ever vigilant; stretching cheeks and cerebrum reaching, reaching - never quite here.