To become real

tonight I’ll tell you, if you want to know,

about a desert campsite long ago

with mammoth bones and the moon a jeweler

striding out across a skein of stars.

Later, the sky darkened, with logs aglow

(until the sun put on a brighter show).

One morning, I woke up from distant sleep

and heard the thrill of a river running deep

into a song of possibilities,

a springboard of unusual surprise

telling me (with gusto) – time to see

the water in another person’s eyes

and all our painted tears make daytime night

until we crave connection – with the light.

A Joy

When I was young, I’d suck up sherbert,

fun like a fool, take chances at dances:

looking for miracles, I’d go straight

into any action with a hatful of fancies.

Not small, the sky would be a sprawling

realm with joy, bewilderments bending

me, out of breath, as I boarded a trawler

to fish seven seas and land where I’m landing.

But, these days, I sail slowly

- bones aching lately –

and my islands of touch

keep it warm in the South.

As far as I can tell, there is no quicksand

with me on a road - heading West - round the bend.

In my time,

I’ve entered many caves and pots

and what entices

me about any hole or grot

is not the stalactites and mites;

it’s more that nothing’s

really there – a no-thing

- hole – this darkness – pitch black

- starless – blank -

and then an energy

swirls, connecting

up from hollows

(out of an emptiness)

comes a ‘no thing’:

God knows.