Is up to me
The stones
That I once was
Rely on poetry
Of the light codes vibratory
Through afternoon trees
The patterns of the leaves
Become a rhythm
In my hand
That twirls the bones
Automatically
Something sacred in the silence
To fill with voice
Like a sluice fills
Inexplicably
With water
With water
And going dry
Deposits leaves
In the well
With something to say
That isn't said
Except by their suggestion
We try
But human emotion is so
Small beside
Its rouge
And bristle
Even the dirt is multidimensional
It turns around
The earth's curvature
And then beyond
A veritable blanket for stars
For string universes
Octahedral planes
Who's to say what the archangels
Galactic councils
Spread with the butter of light
But we can say
The red berries
Of the pepper tree
Include it all
Their task is to absorb
Ours to comprehend
And let comprehension go
As the lamps go on
And the night is strung
With desire
