​What does it mean: to cling
To God? When it is just
A lone idea or feeling,
Its hair is mussed,

It is a vision that 
We cannot trust, or
Lying in bed or wandering
Along the shore,

And we turn our pockets
Inside out to find
One thin dime, parched
In throat and mind…

A satellite map shows
The roads, shows a view
Of the rich-ridged wilderness,
The spectacled bear of Peru,

The maps of time,the maps
Of the mind and veins,
The maps of music,
Of the rising mountain lanes,

The fertile soil,
The mighty Columbia dam,
Then it is the diadem,
Then it is the seat of Abraham,

Then the sciences will rise,
The imaginable and that beyond
The imagined, beyond
The powers of the wand,

Until souls themselves 
Are sluiced to their undermost 
Fathom, and the surf
Crashes on the seacoast,

And the yachts are wealthy,
And in the airy seaside
Homes, we do not fear
Illness, suffering, ill tides,

Poverty and death, they
Do not interrupt this
Light of morning
From the dawn of genesis.

The view from upstairs
Overlooks everything,
And those people whose thoughts
And hollows are pulsing

With life, are taking charge
Of everything. The light
Rests, somehow, on the plain,
Of a tear-shaped meteorite.

There is a joy
When good people win,
The sun is setting
The tide rushes in

Enamel colors
Tinge the street,
In which the hummingbird
Has dipped its feet.

And here is the signpost
Pointing to something higher
Than the fouled streams
Of our veins, the dire

Weariness, up past dreams
We dare (perhaps) not dream,
So that islands rise
In glowing lava under steam,

Where between cathode and anode,
Neon gas glows a scarlet flare,
The snapping crackle from teh bar
Beyond the sun, beyond the great Bear,

It is a glare, a flame, a sun,
A well, a reservoir, a spring,
Pouring through channels of our soul,
And every border marks an opening.

​Everything has an up and
Down. A crown has its spire
And its band. And many lines
Connect the two, the fire

On the sun in radiant
Loops, the loose magnetic
Sweep of magnetic filings,
The lazy to the energetic,

The lustrous to the garage,
And we find along that line
Our bead, lustrous or gray,
Flat water or lilac wine.

​Our thoughts trundle,
Big black beetles, going
Somewhere important,
When we start hoeing,

They act surprised, why
Should they get out
Of the way? The thin
Grapes wrinkle in the drought.

There’s a murmur, a
Throat-clearing in
The sky, a fresh flash
Of slashing wind, a din,

Skin soaked, the smell
Of earth and grass, a crack
Of light crackles, a silver
Vein flashing through a black

Field, and for this moment
The earth is rich and good,
And the clouds drift and
The moon throws back her hood.

 ​I was sitting in class, and 
The teacher taught us to be humble,
Whereupon we lowered the shade
And we covered all the walls with scumble,

But no one taught us of the parsecs
Whose depths, whose scarlet nebulae,
Whose breathless black, filled
With empty, frothing energy

Or of the cilia of throbbing
Eukaryotic cells, or pulsing
Stars, pregnant with their rays,
Or seahorse fathers, their convulsing

Bellies, spilling clouds of eggs,
These mere wisps, these streaks,
These flecks, these hints, 
These whispers of impossible peaks,

We learn to live the lives
Of slaves, dragging ourselves
Through repetitious streets,
Throwing our hats on worm-ridden shelves.

First teach me of greatness so
Fantastic that it fills
Me with a faithful map,
That it streaks the hills

With the courses of the spring
Rills, on which the sun
Glints, with the moss moist,
Where the newly freed brooks run,

Then I will be humble, because 
That is how great you are
Because if the million galaxies
Could all be a single star,

Blazing, massive, gold or
Red, blue, pulverizing, raging fire,
More magnificent than any
Mind could grasp, more than an empire

Of all but infinite extent,
Oh they are just the foam 
Frothing on the surface of the creek,
And you are more than world and more than home.

​For everything we need, we use 
What we know, and what we
Know is so much, it spreads out
In a field of electricity,

And miracles are manufactured,
Strato and nano ,single-gram
Travelers to Alpha Centauri,
Or reporting an arterial jam,

And all of this has to be taken
High, where it does a man good,
Past the sun-striped forest,
The luckless sheriff and Robin Hood,

And the treasure box must be opened
For those sitting in bright rows
Who will have it for food
And for stately clothes.

​Light is streaming 
Out of well, everything,
Toasters, CD players,
Galaxy Sevens, Ping-

Pong tables, also the grass
Coming out of the stone steps,
Also the steps, also the gum
Wrapper, the plastic Schweppes

Bottle, more beautifully,
A black hummingbird (yes,
They’re here too, thank
Goodness), bless

My heart, it never stops,
And every feeling, rage,
Love, melancholy,
Ambitions yellowed with age,

And every spiritual
Thought is cascading
A thousand thoughts
Scooting and roller-blading,

Our action, our nature,
Our humors, imagination,
They bear fruits, lots
Of fruits, an augmentation

Of kiwis and berries,
Cherries, wild peaches,
Apricots, lichees,
Bordering samoan beaches,

Everything pouring out of
The primal well, not just
The Afu Aau Waterfalls
Tumbling down in August,

And everything is alive, 
Like mist, everything rises,
Floats across dark fields,
White drapes across sunrises.

I’m looking inside these rooms.
Hey, I can find everything here!
Here’s a globe and here’s a scroll,
Let’s open this one up, looks clear,

​​Here’s just one letter, well,
At least that, that at least
Is some minimal furniture,
So let’s get some light released

And poured into this letter,
Then empty it out, and do so
Again, pour in and out,
And then, bravo,

Lights of letters without
End, are created and emerge,
Alive, that show their strength
As they diverge.

​Everything has free will:
A rock, a handkerchief, a car,
And when we tie our own free will
To good, it reaches every star,

It changes every antelope,
It flows along the lanes
And charges all the trees with light,
As seen through windowpanes.

​When the lights of joy,
Service, peace, felicity
Stitch together, inspiration
Peals its harmony,

The highest pleasure that
The highest people achieve,
That the qualities of 
Their deeds conceive.

​We can enrich the entire world
With our own treasure,
If we can only bring it out
Of ourselves. It is beyond measure,

It is at the source of our
Soul, which is a flame
That lights up faces,
Whose place nothing else can claim.