o'clock sunlight
Pacific time.
dim outlandish
Isles rise. facets
Of the Watcher
Appear, moon-mapped.
stand like coastal
latitude. Fall
into the Sound
that is silent.
desire comes here
like night ferries,
gold in wet black;
art is brusque as
Olympic grass.
The Uselessness of the Common or Garden Variety of Experience
One doesn't look at the rose,
however restrained, to show
how the violet should be seen.
however vegetable-like,
the peony. Sun will strike
the gnarled, uneven string bean
before one is prepared, glow
in the mind before one knows.
There is no onomato-
peony among growing
things. Each is its own cabbage-
rose, its own duality.
Sometimes the pollen will see
or seem to, one's own courage
standing still before going
wind-borne toward the tomato.
Feeling is touching
Knowledge, thoughts, and dreams
come through our fingers. Hands that ever
reach
see all, strong, bitter as bark, dark in the rocks.
Joy is an arc, and constant happiness
tangible horns high in the summer air.
Manipulate, control, encircle, hold,
see change, learn truth through what our hands
