Arthritic spears, pained cotton forest,
Thorn and tight, impasse -
Not like home's high grass,
Oil-stained, heavy oak air.
Sacrificial well in every city and a killing breeze
On shock temple, blood-branched.
Long plain unwatered ever, sere snake land -
No season of sustenence.
King pierces foreskin -
Blood drop on rough stone -
Astronomers sing for rain.
Breathe on the stairs to the sky,
Drop stones to remember gravity,
Believe they came from beside slow rivers,
Flights of macaw,
Sounded forests, wings stained in colors
Orchid, golden toad, and tamarind.
Any man can map the earth,
But what is within
Those lines, the webs of words that name
Floods of people,
Codify space, and leave water standing in flow?
Flood time with mind,
Reconstruct the memory of memory
Under the shifting
Half-light of the bromeliad and vine-pillared
Places without words or wind.
Cast line through the leaf-fractured air:
Is infinite in time, expanding geometrically
From spaces aged, refound.
Once fingers touched here, this wall, and
Shook with fear
That no past or future was, or could be.