what is becoming of us

can we
go on

is there
more

where is
home

over
flows

center
comes

blood
reads

hunger
hungers

 

sweet basil
is sweeter still

the fine silence
of cumin surfaces

cilantro cannot
contain itself

nor
I

 

I read my way
that afternoon
by a lone lamp
on the eighteenth floor
of the high rise before me

apparently
any notice of it
broke the monotony
of that tall, grey order

I walked on
in its company
content
without knowing
who turned it on
or why

 

 

I happen
through
them

they
through
me

 

caterpillar
ripples
into flight

sunflower
turns
to shine

river
empties
itself

 

below an apple tree by a yellow school
stands a man of blue
he keeps his eyes on the sound of the sun
his ears in adoration

a woman with a basket of bread
below on the banks of the Red
dips her feet in the water’s flow
her hands on beads in a row

between them play a saffron girl
a boy with stones to hurl
in the sway of grass as tall as they
there in the belly of the day

go to
leave behind
the obvious
take your shoes off
turn night
to the right
then to the left
open it
take out something comfortable
to wear
the way a garden wears
the rain
then let
yourself
in

 

to kindle
confidence

to draw
desire

to circle
barefoot

the precious
trouble

until flesh
flames

 

the two
meet

their eyes
glisten

the world
ends

and
begins