on the earth.
My interval
is fixed. Who
fixed it.
For a while
all that came out
was answers.
Then nothing.
In the distance
high tension lines
on fire and up close
a knot in a
branch on
fire. Stumps
everywhere. I waited. Looked for
a crease in the earth
wind or light
could course in
guiding us, pointing
the way. Any
way. Sought
spells. Climbed higher
onto the ridge to see
further. Rocks
burning in the
distance. Then distance
burning. No
sweetwater. All tongues
fire, no speech
those of us human
could read for
signs. Grant me
mission my rushed heart
said. Grant me vision
into the balance
sheet. Everywhere I looked
those still traversing
began to fail. Air they
limped in itself
limped—
I thought I detected a
rhythm in the reddening—
thought at least pattern
give me—but
dust jerked-up in a
circle then dropped
holding no ghost
of meaning. Thought
are those still
bldngs in the distance—
are those still
addresses. The air I sd out
loud, looking into it standing there
in front of me. The air
going into its far moments
without
gathering-up. Smooth.
Flowing. Unruffled.
Above, new crowds now
crossing the summit &
swarming out into
the valley desperate for
intention. Which way
do we go
I ask the air. What
is it coughs in the
invisible, in the as-yet
unmade, as-yet un-
forced. Where nothing has been
established.
No forms locked
in. The sun
comes up burning.
Say everything I say to the air
which begins to
thin now, say
everything before it dis-
appears. Turn us
loose. I remember
a stream darting free
from headwaters & then the
downslope which was
earth’s gift. I remember it
widening. Leaves stirring above it,
as-if leaves stirring deep in-
side its
surface. What
are they an
expression of
I think as I squint them
in—gripping before
this memory
fades. Oh. Try to hold on.
We are a reflection
now. Where is what we
reflect? How could it
leave us here. Old
story, have you ended.
Have you left us in this memory-
stream now, without
reasons, without
plot. I look up before the
air becomes unbreathable,
I close my eyes and try to see it again,
the stream. It is a temple. It is
rushing. How could we
not have heard.