God is an Earthquake

The seeing have forgotten
That the world persists when they
Turn a corner or shut their eyes,

That the young woman they met
The other day was not conjured into being
By her falling in their glance
Any more than she was snuffed
Out of life by her falling out;

That the human drama in the marrow
Of the soul is not resolved by
Busying the mind with other things
Any more than a diseased man is
Cured by ignoring his sickness.

It’s the only thing I know to be true:
That things persist.
That things endure.
That things resound.
That things collide

Like great celestial bodies
Which are left changed, be them
Larger or smaller or merely
Altered in course.

And that these are all the same.

Who was it who said that God is an earthquake?
If he is right, we are each of us a tremor.

Published in Vita Brevis Press

Somewhere in the Mountains

The American woke
His fire crackling in the cold air
A figure, pottering about in the fog.

And then a musket coughed
Flame and led through the night
And the figure slopped into the mud.

Somewhere in the mountains
A hunter yipped, his barrel smoking.
He’d shot a native who brought only gifts.

And a million more would follow.

The Heart of the Cave

Light, for the first time in millennia,
Came and lit the cave’s corners and nooks
Like a flashlight down a well.

And then the flare guttered and died,
So, they backed away from the edge
And pressed their backs to the walls.

The moment of revelation was over
But the images would never leave them.
The layers of the earth this cave bore proudly
Before returning to its endless night.

And as they roped up and rappelled down
They didn’t speak.

Because the cavern felt too sacred.
The darkness too silent.
A word, a light, a breath,
It would be a betrayal.

For, somewhere deep within them
They felt at home. Back at Nature’s breast
Off of which they’ve long since been weaned.