Point Lobos: Animism

It is possible my friend
If I have had a fat belly
That the wolf lives on fat
Gnawing slowly
Through a visceral night of rancor.
It is possible that the absense of pain
May be so great
That the possibility of care
May be impossible.

Perhaps to know pain.
Anxiety, rather than the fear
Of the fear of anxiety.
This talk of miracles!

Of Animism:
I have been in a spot so full of spirits
That even the most joyful animist
When all in sight was less to be cared about
Than death
And there was no noise in the ears
That mattered.
(I knelt in the shade
By a cold salt pool
And felt the entrance of hate
On many legs,
The soul like a clambering
Water vascular system.

No scuttling could matter
Yet I formed in my mind
The most beautiful
Of maxims.
How could I care
For your illness or mine?)
This talk of bodies!

It is impossible to speak
Of lupine or tulips
When one may read
His name
Spelled by the mold on the stumps
When the forest moves about one.
Heel. Nostril.
Light. Light! Light!
This is the bird's song
You may tell it
to your children.

February Morning

Larry,a song sparrow warbles slightly
in the silver morning after the storm.
We enjoy the form,
the shape, the doorways, of the consciousness
that you explored as an astronaut.
I sit on your porches,
and hear your birds, and smell
your rain. You have opened
a sensory brightness
that was not closed
but glowed and enlarged
with pleasure.
You have set
what I feel and touch
to a fresh strain.
You "unmeasure"
music and sense
to be an
opening rose
a rose untouched before

Elephant Head: Opener of Doorways

Great Ganesh, with your single tusk
and conch shell in your hand,
what is on the other side
of the Blackness?

What is not there in the non-dimensions,
in the nothing stuff, when it is freed
of the weight of our fistfull of senses?
What is the rosy musk of the other
side of our eyes and brain
preceding the fantasy of quarks and the rivers of novae?

Give me a
trillion senses
to bite it all like a blackberry
and find the seeds caught
in my teeth.

When I spit, my sputum
will be the colors of it.
I know when I laugh
it rings