Sunfish

a keening wind through the gutters tore myself i let be set low for to raze my sins did that mistral flow and shriek all 'round me, 'no more!' great heavens i beg; o breath from above from my shadow-shot heart please scour its habit to fret and forget life's hours ought be spent contemplating god's love

sing your songs O lonely one the lamps are spent, the feast is done

in a place beyond the beach the water wears a diamond rind there, glimpse shimmering genesis jade of algae and emerald shoals under dulcet diurnal refrain aureate isle of sun, silent as still air i gaze there from some fastness dry gleaning infant dreams; all eden remembered i bask in that light like roadkill

evening of warm damp wind and thunderheads turned the color of pearl by webs of quiet lightning. reading gene wolfe and thomas merton again and feeling pregnant (lol) with a vast murmuring plethora of inspiration; thinking about silent subterranean watershed, the lives of animals. I wonder all the time whether there exists at the pheromone or electrostatic level any likeness of mythology. what do you guys think? might insects or birds or rodents leave aberrant impressions of warning or encouragement throughout their tiny worlds, which we will find equated, when all is known to all at the end of time, to our own mythological friezes and arches, and books of legend? i feel myself and the world are at once like a cauldron effervescing, everything dark and supple and humming.