Songself

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1.

this
juicy bud all but bursting,
this
dry fragile leafspear
having lost its hue,
steam and fog and mist
and all their bows,
the thrashing becalmed river
and its foam
this
flashing light
and needle in groove,
i am all of these things
inside a full to bursting skin–
a flower, a fruit
a cloud, a flame.

and i have learned
the ashes
are the best place
for the egg.

i am not where i was yesterday,
i am not where i will be.
today, my wings are on fire.
tomorrow, they may produce a diamond.

and when my bare feet
are in dirt,
touching cool fleshy grass,
i don’t care
at all.
no.
or in the crump
of sole on snow.
yes.

2.

buddha nature,
dog muzzle,
soul-laughter:
breathing velvet,
life-damp,
eloquent breath.

i had this fantasy,
years ago,
that came in a flash,
fully formed.
as if a memory from another lifetime:
misty rain on fields,
a border of slick darkened trees,
and me, walking,
with a big dog at my side,
walking land of my own
in a slicker and muddy boots.
it never came to pass
but the vision exists in my brain still,
a vaporous refuge.

3.

right now i stand,
feet bloody, wings aflame,
my heart a rising tide,
on the edge of a stone precipice
looking down
into effulgent darkness
and
wolves are howling
below.
learning to howl back.
and clouds are drifting,
swirling with mystery,
and thank you, God,
for mystery
and the iceknife
flutter of the
wind.

001

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