Six Hours

Go ahead, lay yourself down
upon the ochre sheets
spread for you, the sated king
undead, unshrouded, waking-
dreams on procession
towards the head, its tractable
project screens.

A sparrow alights
in the near maple, watching
hidden
from the oncoming torrents
only to disappear.

He, she? knew
where you were now
friend, serpent, naga; guardian
knowing, unbound
by stumbling infant
limbs; whispering secrets
in virgin ears newly exposed
to wind.

Hush, hush
and rustled branches, the sparrow
has come and gone and surely
will return
at its enviable
whim; hush settled
in this blue room
seedlings glown
with calm, green
as your new ears, new
eyes, new fingertips
however calloused feel
as you did before
taking repose
on those ochre sheets.

Yet know to walk
in the sulfurous liquid
depths life shielded
for eons no good no evil
just the currents and the
Vulcan urges burst through
feeding, enrapt—
unwrapped
by the chaos where
for a moment
is still.


(updated 10/18/08)