"... The Mind in the Act of Finding What Will Suffice," and: First Night Welcome Circle, and: apoliticalpoem

"... The Mind in the Act of Finding What Will Suffice"

Seizes summer,
          an evening in late summer
Where cicadas choired
          and the company fell away
As darkness settled
          round us like a shawl
And our voices found
          another register
Below the pitch
          and roll of social chatter....
And life in that new place seemed possible
Because it held within it something old,
Companionable - cat's purr, horse's nicker-
The words we speak to hold each other close
As darkness swallows the world and pares
Us back to the merest husk of creature being.

I'm old enough to know it wasn't love,
Wasn't much of anything at all,
Yet just before sleep or waking up
Or sitting at my desk dreaming lines,
I find myself inexorably drawn
As if below this life, an underlife -
Fierce, heedless, hidden, shy of sun -
Suddenly stretched its sinuous length and ran
Along the neural pathways breathing flame.

First Night Welcome Circle

- Cave Canem, Summer 2002

I fear this circle - beauty, warmth, comfort - that it will end before
I've filled myself.

- a member of Group A

It will not end.
Your body is a living tree of fire:
coal in your belly, flint and steel below,
wildfires spark then flare inside your mind,
while your eyes recall the light of vanished stars;
woodsmoke lends its richness to your throat;
and bright foliage bearing every kind of fruit
branches to and from your glowing heart.

Close your eyes, summon those tender ones
who chewed for you the first words of this world,
one by one, placed them on your tongue.
They have never left, will never leave you.
Be in the comfort of your strong, clean bones.

It will not end.
This circle is a magic bowl,
formed from the richest clay that could be culled
from the seven ancient rivers turtle dreamed.
Care and fierce devotion wedged this clay.
Justice found dead center on the wheel.
The turning hand pulsed love for you
and me, for her and her and him...
Come into this circle,
Shoulder your way in.
Without hesitation, take what's yours.
Open your hand, dip it down and down. Eat;
there is nourishment for all and ample time.
One and the same,
our fullness and our hunger;
do not be afraid,
it will not end.

Apoliticalpoem

you can always write your confessional

x marks the spot, center of the world
somebody done somebody, apple of my eye

wrong poem

can always say the light this morning
the light this morning, her breast, wild plum
in lamplight, moonlight, birdsong
can always say the light this morning
unless no sun; her breast, wild plum
unless no breast where lush full flesh had been

life won't wait around forever
but it will wait awhile

forsake the bed where one you love is sleeping
taking instead to wife the dire headlines, late-
breaking updates on the hour and half hour
endless speculation on uncorroborated, non-specific threats
weep wail rage against injustice
grieve for the poor who are always with us
let righteous indignation kindle your heart
focus; will this fire to purify the world

a hand on your shoulder breaks the spell
robe fallen open, warm sleep smell
a flawed world perfect, perfect as it is
though not by us perfectible.