Who We Are

There are too many
versions of self lost from
many iterations/ I seeping
in tender aggression
over it/ I, containing
all echoes

resounds

and thinks in-between
such things where associations
flow without influence: I wonder
if the truth is there same
like a stem makes a leaf
makes a tree

in infinitum

‘the way of the way:’ waves
rising out of words we say
and up into another I
like dust from an old coat
rises the still air in
the light

like galaxies,

Because I need not define:
to wake and see a familiar
stranger constructed
from this seed (seed of
a stem or seed
of a leaf)

still rooting

maybe tangled
like The Beatles
Revolution 9 where love
was not enough, Lennon
planted everywhere
in pursuit of order

(like a theory of chaos)

because my words like fractals,
and my people like words
become recursive- appearing
infinitely complex, but
if you follow each statement
back there was only a person

‘simply,’ in the beginning-

and my love will find me in
the rainforest again where
mountains meet the sea/
sometimes I fear a great wave
will come like I dreamed when
young and frightened or

he will find me driving completely
unrooted and free with only my heart
like a beacon- I am in Astoria or
Sedona, back to the hot trails of
youth chasing spiderwebs
in the sunshine

to hold tight/ even the insubstantial

and every thing an animal
can perceive waves
bouncing from one onto another:
is wanting definition. Sometimes I will
antidote the need to define
with inattention/

until the echo goes on-

because people rooted
in sand: their roots don’t
tap the same way so
they grow them flying buttresses
scaffolding tender things
or like ivy choking

the heart(‘)s

like those grown in shade
of tall trees with small and
hanging pink flowers balloons
concerned with whether they are more
pink than red or more red
than is tender in

perception

and how silly,
(when I was a little girl
laying on the cool concrete
watching the night for lightning
that arced like a spider’s web
thinking it evidence

of god)

a state of wonder
a wave forming outside of
else, only echoes its self
is outside of definition
like a balloon
maybe lost/ maybe

let go

looks like a dot
from so far away-
maybe I watch with
required wonder
maybe it can still reach

into the sun.

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