Our current knowledge
will be clear
to be no more
than a droplet
within an immeasurable
ocean of unknowingness –
we pretend on this earth
to know more than we
know not
we dispel mystery
because we have
a few theories
and laws of Nature
as a poet I seek
that vaster sphere
of Nature Unknown
I do not call it
divine
but because of its
opulent mystery,
I deem it
sacred.
Follow the designs
of the fruit fly course
and swallow the silver abyss
of the month, like a pocket of lungs
in the tissue of paperwork,
the wrong eschatology
roaming freely in the
painless nurture
of nature – there
flapping endlessly
in a wind of glimpse.
The unintelligibility of the hand
arbitrary and soft
the fingers of the lover
enough heat from the sun
a momentary window on my skin
an animal cry
born in every vein –
I’m trembling against the vastness
I’m already in the garden
wondering how these flowers
connect me to the beginning of life
I see your naked body
on the disquieted branch
I am splinter
striking the sky –
have you felt the insect
climbing simultaneously
our arms and forests…
the universe peacefully
on your breasts;
have we knitted our mysteries
with yellow fire
will we love in silence
observing the wild dance
of the worlds –
somewhere with closed eyes
our origin
a purpose incomprehensible
within
all formations and eruptions
your lips are asleep
an epoch
with the rain as memory
we die as children.
I envy the rock
I want eyes as deep
protruding shadows
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
envelops me.
I kept
the elements tightly
together
coated by the universe
of my skin,
in there I live too
throwing in the fire
the logs of life,
waiting for the blaze
to engulf all nature
and allow me a glimpse
of some bliss
at the other end
of
living.
The fiery afternoon had transformed itself into a turbulent purple. How else could I describe it? It had no other name than Turbulent Purple. I am by blind necessity bound to call it by that denomination, I am a slave to that ambiguous name. Leaping in and out the oblivious space of mind, short and poetically vague sensations occupied most of my purposeless time. Without explanation or warning I could read in the papyrus of thoughts scriptures such as these:
Beyond Language 
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