Spelling Doesn't Count

God's name wanders through everything,
Alpha to Omega, Ah to Zed, the la in Il’alla...

What dust is not a thread of melody?
What star is not uproarious,
shouting that Light?

There a liquid song that swells 
in the throat at the death of a warrior,
the way smoke curls from a wick
just blown out, returning 

to the lips that gave him breath.

A resonance in the electron 
toned at the edge of a dogwood petal.

The wail of atoms in their entropy,
the keening of space.

The drone of peepers rehearsing 
for Spring, plum buds gurgling 
rain down to their seed bellies, 

sigh of lovers turning over in the dark, 
entwined in undulant furious ignition
even before they awake.


Tulips bursting, crying for more,
the quiet of the forest rattled

by woodpecker echos,
or the sound of no sound at all 
from midnight till dawn,
except one ancient ululation 
of a mateless coyote. 
Did you dream that? Or was it 
the memory of something heard
before creation?

And this sound, listen! The blood 
tumbling from your volcano of meditation
through forests of myths and stories
into the sparkling trout pool 
of the amygdala.

When you yearn for the unspeakable, 
any murmur you make says, 
"Let there be light!"

What sigh is not a revelation? 
A moan, however it emerges, must be true.
The peepers pause, then start over. 
They'll get it right.

What sound is your breath making now?
Even the wildest weed, the tiniest petal,
scribbled with your syllable of prayer!



Fragments


“Imperfection is beauty.” ~Marilyn Monroe

And you have only just now
accepted the grace!
These fragments of your life,

the broken lines,
the missing phrases,
endings that don't quite

rhyme, beginnings
that die in non sequitur,
stillborn ellipses

of awkward syntax
silently holding hands
as you disappear

around corners together
alone again, until
suddenly it falls

into place
as a single poem
needing no interpretation

because the mystery
of your beauty fills
all the empty spaces...

Flower Now


Every particle that overflows
from the void
proves that there is nothing
but abundance.
Moths and morning glories
live their whole lives in a day
because they occupy
their own bodies
completely.
You could flower now.