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Be Imperfect and DieBe imperfect, and die!Envy not the ancient constellations,With their stick-figure constancyfixed in the heavens.No! Forgive this conception and transcend it.Be a real constellation:Burning, ever-moving and gloriousfor your never-waiting, yourindifference to the supplicationof that old, inquiring organwhich churns inside youbut would petrify the churning.Be imperfect, and die!Envy not the ancient spring,which pushes life…
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On Emphasizing the Out-BreathPlay your hunger.Strum it like a silver chord.Let it dance like a cool flameround the earthen walls ofthe fine ceramic vase of your body.Relish the out-breath.Without it there is no in-breath, no relief;Yet it is not only an assistant but a companion.Let it tickle your lip and whisper to youquiet songs of…
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A PrayerI offer to you, Lord, my confusion.I offer to you my extremes.Let me be as a sapling in the wind,bending to the vicissitudes of my mind,bending to the response of Your will.Let me see the gloryof a pine, deeply rooted:faith by nothing overturned.Help me to lookwith equanimity for truth;and to discoverthat my sight expands…
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The Three SingersI was brought downTo the place where all the world’s a poem, an art-garden,and all the people sculptors.Unwillingly admitted, in fact—a three-day sojourn among the cluttered, the broken-in.The fallen leaves, coloring still; not green again or yet(but greenness is self-serving anyhow).I met perchance three singers with one braided song.The song was mine, and…
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Baby birdBaby birdOn the sidewalk;Gone so young, never feathered;Once encased, never fettered—Through your intercession:Let my death be like yours—in a whisper;To a hymn sung by mi familia;For my tomb the whole world.And let them sing unto new millennia:Those who flew that I may try to fly, whoLanded that I may find ground.Let them sing, then…
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The Frog and the WrenI’ll make myself a characterif it enhance our storytimes.(Authenticity is not-being; it’s only not-to-do.The being is your game;It’s ultimately up to you.)This sort of divinationis our duty and our right:to seed ourselves by inclinationand build by day as dreamt by night.So I’ll be a frog and you’ll be a wren;and we’ll…
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To Poetry and MagicMy poems create their maker(I’m taller than I think I am).When I search among fields of choicesto call forth dialogue from noise,I grant peaceful power conduitto create myself by prophecyand reckon myself by words and worldsbeyond my reaching(I’m smaller than I think I am).Let me be for these words as all for…
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A MeatballI fold my napkin gingerly, like it’s afraid of my touch.There are so many sounds in the wall it’s like a quiet river.The cold outside makes our warmth more fragile, and that’s just as well.Scarcity creates value, I suppose.The thing is, my thoughts are broadcast commentary,since there is no other way. Of course,the Grand…
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And What of All This Swirling?And what of all this swirling?To see life always in reflectionOn the eye to which I hold myselfAnd when until its stopping?Can I hold for longer stillWith all I know awash?And essence—what to knowAnd what to let slip through—When will it matter?Time—to hold and time forAll. But what—and more,For whom?…
The Trinitarian Mystery 