I WILL LEAN INTO YOUR VOICE
I will lean into your voice as a willow leans into wind.
The terror of your nails!
The meat of your presence!
Noise of many waters!
The seed bull enters his herd with a trumpet.
Grackles fly out of maple trees in the midst of seizure!
The magnificent eye that sees all creatures afloat in itself
Let me run my hands along the nylon over your void.
Standing on a lake, playing his flute,
golden dhoti giving birth to wheat fields in the air.
Worlds, men and women tangled with stars
are streaming from the flute!
He speaks his own name and universes leap into being.
He keeps quiet and everything melts back into his Being.
He stops playing and eats a mango!
Over a sourceless, sounding lake he walks
and every footstep leaves a baby waking up in water.
We are praising you Krsna,
praising you Krsna,
I LOOK IN THE INFINITE DIRECTIONS OF THE EYE
I look in the infinite directions of the Eye.
See your face upon the Earth,
the circle of your mouth,
teeth like white geese whose beaks point toward the sun.
Hear a caravan of wind, a shipment of breezes,
thunder carrying your Voice over the farms.
You are the ark and the creator of the ark.
I am calling you like a young tree frog.
I am calling like a cricket to the moon.
I want to be stripped of limitation, forced full of lights.
I want to be a raining presence of affection,
to stand naked before you
and give myself wholly to the river off your glance.
PRAYING IN A HORSE PASTURE NEAR MIDNIGHT
I enter through a wound
going down into the world
where fire walks, embodied in blood.
I walk into the fire and I burn
upside down in a suit of ashes.
I drink words from a broken cistern,
words and ashes mixed together.
I want the earth never to have existed!
I want colors going back into light!
I am afraid of little breezes touching my arm!
See wings made of moon light beating in the dark!
Something in me wants the iris to float out of my eyes,
wants me to be old, to surrender to the sky,
give up to the floating scenery I am described by.
I want that too!
I want to disappear, become all this.
I want to be with you and know you won’t get tired of me.
Come down to this pasture where long eared donkeys bray.
Come down from the tower of the trees
or bring me up.
HEARING TREE FOGS IN THE RAIN
Hearing tree frogs in the rain, I draw back curtains,
let their clear syllables fall across my boots.
Last night we slept together touching ankles.
Now I stand at the window
holding in my hands the green light of cedars.
I SPEAK OF THE NEW BIRTH!
I speak through a cylinder of foam
birds raging in my throat.
A season of nails falls from my hands,
The sky slides into my shoulders.
I am not this, I am not that!
The hundred angles of my smile attach to light.
I speak of the new birth!
Nothing is tangled.
The star is a star after all.
The coil is a river and the river is myself.
Watch for me, where I fly in the body of an oriole,
an answer without a question!
PRAYING BY A CATTLE TANK
I want to be touched by the nameless Presence.
I want my lips to be leaves of fire!
But there are flies on the surface of the cattle tank.
A mare with a belly like a church house has come down
to drink the water.
From where I sit, I see
the jawbone of a cow that bloated and died.
And a blue jay, everything eaten but its feathers!
I hold my hands up against the land, the sky, oak trees