In full support of the body
the tongue lashes out silently
to open a wound. The body lurches forward
then is still. Meanwhile the soul,
a disruption of the body,
a cocoon among its waves,
wraps itself around itself.

You don’t know what any
of this means…you will, though, as the woods
crowd around and in. As the wind
rattles the windows and you shiver
wondering as to meaning and
implications. A language
of body and soul simultaneously
talking, talking…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T

You deserve —
what?

Offer of a meal.
A kind hand. A fever
poultice, a bandage.
A place. Silent assent
to how you get those things
if no one is getting hurt. 

But if no one gets hurt,
can anyone get
what they deserve?

Slowly,
body slips aside and

this day becomes
soil, turns into

garden, changes
from struggle to

memory of
struggle. 

Slowly, body
fails the day,

closes till
tomorrow

with neither sadness
nor regret, just

a hope for 
soft open,

a wish for 
sunrise,

a longing 
for growth 

for days upon
days yet to come.

An obvious answer
to the question of 
what it’s all about

is that there is no
meaning
except whatever
you give it

If you give it God
you get God
If you give it something
not-God then
you get not-God
You get what you put in

which is also 
a meaning
although the universe
is not here
simply to teach you

which is also
a meaning

The feeling stirred 
by dawn 
sliding through a 
dirty window
is our
everything.

The longing to bathe
in fluid light,
to swim 
in gold poured
from a fortunately
broken sun:

that’s the hope
carrying us all
through
cold,
through dark.

so
no longer
tolerant of
what comes from within
I refuse it

as if it were not
my own

as if we were at war
at war we are
I see

I am just saying birds
cannot weep
can they 
so why
indulge such nonsense

I do have wings now though

when you inhabit your name
hearing it as version of dragon lion or storm 

when you make a home within it
fortress for the stand you must make

when you are at last the embodiment of your name 
you will know that it is not a name

that is the source of
your power 

Take just now, for instance;
I was chasing
the wobble of the Earth’s axis
in delight;

take that second
from me. It’s yours,
offered in the spirit of
wormhole and string theory.

Take my time from me —
don’t need it.  I have faith
in a true eternity contained
in however brief the time left

will be.  It will be
enough.  That’s 
my favorite word now,
“enough.”  Take that, too.

I have had enough of it as well
and so I recommend it to you,
as it goes well with the excess time
you’ve taken off my hands.