155.
This still is Eden but who’d believe
me
I meant only to complain the
lawnmower erased the cello suite
but then the sun suffused the fog and
no one listened
to anything but the noise that
silenced me
this still is Eden some of us never
left
a flaming sword that keeps you out
lights us to our beds
because we sleep in matter
mind has burned away all its guesses
too much weight groan of a physical
world
the wind in Eden my mother crying
or a story she could understand when
I had come
beyond all stories to the untellable
itself.
156.
One of those days when all music sounds
like church
the wind is up to something
breath tries to remind us to let go
it has no natural end no golden
fleece
only the dragon car on the
merry-go-round
I rode it pompous to ride with Medea
the invisible beings who guide and
protect
y ddraig goch for instance small monster in my blood
enough of Being it’s time for the Is
the self-existent the shadow of a
woman the mother’s dream
Amphitrite comes before all and Ovid
names her first
goddess of the ocean from whom we
come and we are hers.
