Sunday, May 4, 2014


Culture is the abode of God,
The home of all souls. Words
Were the beginning of whole
Numbers, of whole worlds,
Of wholes. Nothing was part
Or parcel of other . . . Oh.
I don't know. The creek
At the top of the scenic road
Through Zion runs free.
All the dams well below.
Turkey and deer, also tourists
In rental cars and on bicycles,
Crowd its ever-crumbling shores.
Cross over, cross over,
Drink your fill. Mists and snow
Wraith the sheer canyon walls.
Rocks from fires, water
From the rock, life
From water, word
From the lives tumbling out, God,
Spirits and spooks of all kinds,
The thermodynamic cascade.
We were always correct, reading
Faith backward, immaterial
And material are linked after all,
Only it's the latter started higher,
Up in those seraphic veils.
You can't resist. You're a tear
On a tear down the cliffs,
A momentary swirl
In the words for the world
That return as your soul,
Braid of old words pooling,
Passing through the momentary
Vortices of you, downhill.

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