There Are No Limits In This Raining

May 25, 2010

There are no limits in this raining,
nor in how woven
the landings’ surfaces get
as storms tear leaves down
in furious crisscrossing array,
in dazzling sparks
while lightning strikes through
these Autumn masks
being whisper-shattered to blend
as one inferno,
naked-disappearing-gathering.

Do you hear the crows
calling this day, ‘The Last Day,’
always the last
since it’s the first endlessly?

And in how
an old bear brings itself
to the jumbled array of boulders
who are the same color
as God has painted its fur,

In their own way
they are the so-solid-solitude
sheltering its cave entrance
from porous trespassing wanderers,

How it climbs around
these tight-maze-spaces,
never bumping the knitted
cob webs long set out weeks ago,
even months in some corners,
eight-legged Queens and Kings saying,
‘Thank you, thank you.’

The dance,
to cross the sunken cross,
to bring a bridge’s birth upwards
into thought only,

Then the heart picks up that hammer
that didn’t think twice as it met
spike to flesh and flesh to wood’s
slow altitude surrender,

Bright cotton-powder-white blossoms
dropping from azaleas deep set
in an emerald pine tree forest,

Natural red moss turning green.

Glowing orange infant
laughing Pluto warm.

Still dancing…

The steps won out
in a breath held
so to steady the fragile freezing ankles
while they forge that river
just high enough
to make sunrise seem likely a sunset,

Nervous feet
searching Foothold and Balance
for any spare change
they can contribute,

Ten toes looking upwards
through the rapids,
at a child cradled asleep
within even more frail arms,

The smile,
the mile deep postage stamp
turned on its side
and the yawn that will arrive
when God turns over
and looks to that fifth direction,
neither North, South,
East or West…