1987
Zuni/ Goya
1.
A blank-- storming
in an eternal wind.
Looking back from the moon
to the earth as heaven,
the new hero is us,
a Zuni-- wind returns.
2.
The lines of literature
extend landscape’s distance--
coming back to a surface, flat!
Meanings are generated,
driven home --bang!
the canvas figure,
and stretcher as bone
the fabric as skin
A leek, a turnip, sop-- the earth
acid poetries, turning
blank as the death,
we contain within
flags of the life, we project--
smashing those images,
Loud sound and, Push!
the surface! the prize!
not trading in gold
but a finer sense
in metaphor,
tinting a space...
cycling
3.
Indian twilight
rhythms of space in
skeins of consciousness.
Subjects line up in a narrative
horizontal journey
cataloging, ordering
stringing along,
swoosh and stripe,
5.
Back to front-- snap
to surface taut
attention
ta-- dah! then flat, again
on one’s face,
no landscape of final truth.
spot of time, stop.
Coming to surface...
6.
As God was real
the landscape
anchored a reality.
As God is dead
the land floats afar,
but look,
a bud again-- this Spring!
...fearing I would someday
tire of looking at this?
Sunset,
the whispering of birds?
7.
...dreaming a name, a shield
banging-- to light!
yellow flags! flash
awake!
The Indian said,
“where the bird stops, there the god is.”
looking for a universal
in the purple dark.
Life offering the possibility
to extend ourselves as far
as we dream...
...surging upward
breaking the surface
the prize grasped in his teeth!
Lights shine, mandala spins
all into one
a crystal light
flashes!
“This is the Truth!”
Coming from the darkness
still quite dim
we mutter, no--
still--
we stand up and shout,
this is it!
this, this-- Truth!
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