Shall we enter the unwritten record of time
into which myriad beings of the planet tracelessly dipped a toe
in water which was snow
which was vapor
which was an idea before creation?
to go off the record onto some half snowy deer path
whose sidewalks are brambles and berries
morainal remnants yet sheltering somehow
more than any precision building
this is the path with no end and no beginning
without premise
nor conclusion
only the argumentation of creatures at play
the ticker tape clatter of the woodpecker becomes everyone’s business
interanimated by snow confetti
welcoming home the vanished hero from his war with all of civilization
the grandiloquent histories of nations have failed to impress
political speeches
money
why not be literarily alive in every waking moment
re-inventing language as an inter-species medium
me and the high eagle
me and the invisible worm
and the unscored lyrics which rise out of the horizon in morning mist
there in ephemeral scripture awaiting the divine sonorities of the aurora
concert in the mountains
you may need to return behind bellicose lines from time to time
in order to purchase canned food
to participate in canned laughter
or to perform an act of faint protest against the inexorable mechanism
don’t bother reminding anyone of who you are
return like a thief in the night and leave in silence and stealth
the town church steeples impale the evening glow
on their crosses
stabbing at the clouds
it’s a proper town with a legion of tree stumps
arranged in witness
where this paved labyrinth winds
footprints once lasted only a day or two
then dissolved in the dew
everything is extraordinarily tidy
thought under control
my heart beats differently here
differently.