Saturday, November 26, 2011

1 - At Morning Service

At the amphitheater’s base, a stream babbles wetly in tongues.
Congregant flowers, blushing faces rapt, thirst:
the air is thick with roots’ occulted prophecy.
This ministering crowds out my fleet and mammal presence here.
Through hewn stone, dug beds, gymnasium of latticed pine
I tread a postulant in the audience of roses
who know their own bodies’ muted ciphers,
forgive the animal misstep.

To plant: being, diligently.
Swift bloom of summer, search yourself for this vegetable power of listening.

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