There was home.
Clay closed around
There was a time.
When we were burning,
working under the
astronomy of the leaves.
There was a tool
and we planned like kings
some horizon for our blood.
There was house.
A storm made of war
like a word made of hell.
There was a continent.
A march across a broad
month in groups of large
There was a trauma.
Mucous like iron
in the continuous
light of the extinct.
There was a mountain.
An absolute struggle
where almost cosmos.
There was a square.
Where mystery was
a brilliant white arc.
There was a home.
When purpose and space
were known a hundred
There was a home.
When water was the only
line of music under
of the cloud.
I envy the rock
I want eyes as deep
hair as wise tilting winds
combing the grasslands of my thoughts,
I envy the nose rising into the perfume of sky,
the mouth savoring the elusive spring snow,
I need the sleep of a mountain
to command my skin to roll down stones
as dreams down a fatal abyss;
at the bottom touching rivers of intricate twine
my feet would play with the fish and the shimmers –
but my illusion is not merely physical,
I need a religion of transformation
similar to all these millennia of erosion
and above all,
to participate imperceptibly
as a column that touches a heart
like the summit of mineral
descending to the center of the earth,
I need to intertwine with rock, mountain, pinnacle –
something of the power that
I was dark as a gigantic shadowed mountain
I was impenetrable like a frozen ocean
I was silent like cactuses in a desert of nothingness
I was absent as the cold sleep of death
I was static like an atom between galaxies
But I was not alone, not abandoned
We were lovers, young and passionate
We made love, through and through
Our bodies flew away in the agony of pleasure
Then we both, in the horizon of thought
Disappeared like gods behind the chaos of creation.