The birds articulate me. When I grow,
I grow up like a flower straight into
the light that knows the surface of all things
between the East and West, the North and South.
They move in a light script that I suppose
is calligraphic, I'm the words they wrought
across the vast expanse of blue that goes
beyond the bayous and into the gulf.
I see my thoughts as trees, the leaves themselves
repeat like octaves in the music of
a Vedic situation. When the stars
were read as names, the wanderers began
to spell out symphonies, they spun a verse
that gave the world its heft and definition.
No comments:
Post a Comment