I típ my hát to yóur extraórdináry stúbborn dríve.
Undáunted bý the látest hóusing shórtage repórt,
yóu set óut to máke a hóme by húrling
your héad agáinst the hárd bárk
óver and óver, nót
in frustrátion, as Í
would dó,
but yóu háppily.
Jáckhammer of the quíet wóods,
you concúss your unfláppable cránial crést
like a flág póinting hómeward in a whípping wínd,
séeing a wárm nést where nóne has béen befóre,
your réd cárpet púshing agáinst the hárd-to-ópen dóor.
Garáge door úp, óut éarly, retúrning láte, dówn
the dóor on this húb, this híve, this gránd céntral státion.
Góod for refúeling, stóring prízed posséssions.
Kéep it well-óiled. A róof from the ráin,
but the áction is élsewhere, óut there,
awáy from the hóuse.
But Í am
hére at hóme.
Déstinátion, arríval.
Not a díving bóard but a déep póol
in whích to thrów awáy an áfternoon of tíme
húddled over a módel tráin máking its cláckety círcuit,
Ín the túnnel and óut agáin into the sáme swéet spáce.
Í am bórn stáring at a céiling póised overhéad
like a collíding plánet. My lífe’s fúel is spént
swímming thróugh invísible fíelds
of grávity reléntlessly préssing
the wéight of wórlds
dówn.
My smáll-boned béing
dáily bénch-presses ský,
as Í walk cásually dówn the stréet,
the whóle héavens plúmmeting fíre-tailed cómets,
my úpward gáze–Sísyphus púshing báck the stórm.
The under-glow pulses like a breathing thing
in its branch-dome home on which
lit flames flicker,
dancing away
the stage
to a glorious fall
in a shower of wild sparks
whirling up into over-hanging trees
heavy with the settling sighs of starlight.
To surrender control of the narrative, some say is suicide.
Perhaps we have the picture wrong. Perhaps
this vulnerability, this courage
of gestures from the first
misunderstood—
is divine.
Unbelievable
beginnings leave clues
to be forever misinterpreted—
the World’s Lover framed in the dirty panes
of our own passions, our smudge on His tender terrible smile.
After a long travel’s disorientation
and the noise of so much coming and going,
unseen melodious robins
welcome you
home,
now invited
to disappear into a song
where you are the music and you are the ear,
an equilibrium far from the freeway’s din.