For Emma.
When dogs smell, they smell in vivid color. They smell every hue of days past and days to come. When dogs smell, they smell the eons, every forefather and foremother who has ever peed. When dogs smell, they smell the beginning of time, the history of their race and of humanity, too. When dogs smell, they follow every trace of the Creator’s touch. When dogs smell, they do not smell rot or stench or death. Even bad smells smell good, for dogs smell redemption.
On bridge of steel
or bridge of stone
or in the water
that binds life to life?
On a blank page
in the autumn air
up in the branches of a tree?
You are more
than everything
and not
any thing
but everywhere
I see
You.
Through windows wide the coolness crept, swept me onto my feet for the blinding brightness of day. Open mind, blank slate, open arms, full plate, I swaggered, soon staggered into the rest of my life.
The flying of the year
the frying of the day
now frees our fetid fear
as all time flows away.
We do not mind the toil.
We do not mind the speed.
But our hearts recoil
to boil as we bleed!
We pressed through thorn and spiderweb, darkness and rain, to the palace and to the feast, as any lumpy bed and paltry meal would be for such weary wanderers as we.
We swam through the green, roots and rotting logs our steps into the clouds. The sunset found us on quartz boulders, Shining Rock in the shadow of Cold Mountain. No postcard vistas for us, only glimpses through the mist with joy! There is no majesty without mystery.
Into the wind
above the haze
to the top
of the highest hill
every green and red
stretched to silver grey
over the palace
where my grandfathers’ ghosts
still walk
vying
with each other
for
the light
Faithfool 