Archive
09/20/11 - (2)
Somewhere Past Noon
It's only when I'm up here, in these latitudes of northern disappearance, That my spirit loses all traces of its identity's anonymity, Dons the habit and habits of the water, air, trees, animals, and stars, Takes on the sovereign natural trappings the seasons display When soaring through the glories governed by solitude and silence.
Indeed, under the influence of last evening's calming balm, Somewhere deeper than the regions of mere mortal midnight, I allowed myself to be scooped up, from my bench at dock's end, In the Big Dipper's cup, and poured into the Milky Way's river, Then drawn, on its blurry current, across the universe's ocean, to dawn.
Now, Tuesday is a roistering of swooping and darting pine boughs. I'm nowhere to be found, if not in the waves' shore-poundings Or in the molecules of glistening raindrops Hymning gospels and psalms, on my kitchen's windowpanes, Or in the wind, navigating every unmapped vision of my imagination.
Somewhere past noon, on awakening from my awakening, I recognize the nakedness in which I've been clothed, for seven decades, Know to whom I belong, whom I've always been meant to be: us. As unquestionably connected, of one mind, as are earth and sky, So are nature and I, born at the same time — Creation.
09/20/11 - (2)
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