I am about to die tho it may take a few more years
So what can I say to wake myself and maybe you
To the wonder that grounds the ground itself
And every blade that grows to knit the tongue
That twists my breath into these words
~
This is my only gift the gab that wakes me up
And maybe you if you can cut the crap
Of endless craving for anything but
The treasure that is always here
At the tip of your tongue
~
Like that word you have forgotten
The word for that dimple between your nose
And your upper lip
Or the kind of rain that evaporates
Before it reaches the ground
Ah there it is the ground
~
Of gods and gourds and words
You see it if you turn away
From all those words
About things that everyone says
Will bring you peace and just
~
Hold some dirt between your hands
And consider the stuff of which
Each one of us is made
How strange that dirt can weave
A thing like you or me
A thing that shapes these sounds
Between its ears
Then bends the air it breathes
~
To send them thru
Another pair of ears into
Another you
Another shaper
Of dirt and wind and worlds
