I am what touches

I am what touches

the land, what smells

the oceans and tastes

heaven. I'm what hears

what we have seen,

or how the birds see

overseas. I've touched

rivers and I've heard

trees that can smell

Sunlight. I taste

God like flowers taste

soft rain. I am seeing

the ground that smells

rich. I have touched

her limits and I hear

the breath I heard

before I could taste

anything. She touches

me now that I see

how divinity feels.

Eventually, I will turn to dust

Eventually, I will turn to dust,

leaves will dissolve, bindings rust,

and words will not look the same.

Throughout the course of awful time

my grammar will not fall in line,

and scientists won't know my name.

Despite my simple turning pages

no one will remember the ages

when I had a legitimate claim.

Before the valley of oblivion

I'll apprehend the dull horizon

that wanders toward a timid flame.

Yet, the mysteries of eternity

have made confusion very plain.

At first, we know the very road

At first, we know the very road
that winds toward the quiet mountain;
the ribbon of footprints, the broad
blue sky that no thought can contain.

And then, we know the silent clothing
stirring underneath the fountains;
the heaven that abstractly glows
beyond the limits land maintains.

At last, we know the cloud floating
above what we have known for certain;
the unsure pathway, the bulky coat
that falls over her like a curtain.

Finally, we are pilgrims who know
that the way must remain uncertain.

She's standing there. Her face is upside-down

She's standing there. Her face is upside-down

And a couple rocks are scattered in the water.

It's black and white. Her feet are in the sand

That holds the memories of land. She's looking

Through the doors of my mind and down into

My heart in ways I can't explain. Her dress

Is loose and she hides behind another veil.

She's terse around the waist and she's balanced

Delicately on two legs. She's standing there.

The earth knows her toes, the ocean knows

The craggy cliffs, and the air knows her face.

I'm wondering what is lost when an image

Captures her, resolves her to a few colors,

And selects only a few things to frame.

It was your lovely eye

It was your lovely eye
that bound me. The halls
of tears became the doors
to woe. The Sun's passage
seemed to be the way
of misfortune. My heart
was clear, and my heart's
suffering began with eyes
of pity. I went on my way
securely through the halls
and fearless passages.
Love went through doors,
and I was caught in halls
whose rays turn the eye.