Friday, November 04, 2005

The Secret Book of Son Rivers: Eagle Vision

Psalm One: Eagle Vision

Dead leaves
aren’t dead. Again.
November amber
psyche falling wind
encircles once
and future oaks.
Again. White pines,
the bark of present
tense is seeming
always now. Again.
No objects when
I breathe the abstract
atmosphere of famous
the cellular solution not
an apple near me now.
Again. The afterglow
of ash trees singe
my lungs. Again.
The shadow of the sun
enlightens salience.
Again. No edges just
a meeting of the senses
touch a visionary
sweetness sounds
like essence. And again.
The spin of eagles,
mountain laurel.
And again. The river
falls on elemental
breezes alphabet
omega Merrimack
and relativity
with walking ending
in the cerebellum
where once more again
that wholly blending.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I really like this one!