SURFING THE ABYSS
Surfing the abyss,
calm in the turmoil of things
and my heart as free as a river
to pursue its own deranged clarities
downstream to wherever that leads
and even the bridges flow.
And if a smile comes to my lips
like a dove returning with no word of land,
remembering some odd moment
from the inside from years ago,
I kiss it on the head and let it go
like a message in a bottle of snow.
The moon has overtaken Jupiter
and a cold whip is mentoring the breeze
but the stars have not grown fierce
and it still astonishes me
how intimate and inwardly shining
you can become with things
that know nothing about you.
Good to be alone like this again
without a beginning or an end
without knowing a damn thing
except the wonder
of what it’s all about.
Sometimes the cool bliss
of beauty aware of itself.
Sometimes its inconsolable passage.
And then the times like now
when even the lowliest elements of my humanity
are enhanced by an emptiness without exclusion
and a great tenderness
settles over everything that lives
and nothing offends, and nothing forgives
and love everywhere masters its own discipline
and is free of grief and pain
not as ashes are free of the fire
or bad wine is poured from the cup
but as the genius of desire
that enflames them to grow
their own flowers
without pulling weeds from a grave
or losing their voice in the darkness
like a sundial
in the gardens of the dead
when night comes on without an explanation.
Just these epiphanies of life as it is
when no one is watching;
just this seeing without eyes
just these black beatitudes
in the unglazed mirrors of meaning
that never reflect upon themselves
by looking back.