41: Come Down

I needed the walk and thought - I

sought the river, where

even dry

its ghost remained; the dying

of day released it from the ground in a swirl of

gray around me becoming - gentle heat out from cement. Earlier

I poured earth's blood into me, one whole

bottle in a drafting greed and this walk

is an exercise in sleep, moving, dream, and falling down.

There is this trouble, you see my father, the river, an energy

master

taught me about battling: you

cannot change

resistance

with the resistance

which created

it

or the resistance

it has become; you

must allow it

passage; energy must

stay as it is

if you

fight

it - this is a law - release

and it

will become

something new; this is

the martial

secret

and the most

open road

to release is

love; I have in me

enough

wine for the river. So there I go.

At the dry trough, water comes to me with no bones, just sliding remains; its severed

tongue rests in the valley,

detached from the mountain. It is silence, pale moon reflects;

You smell of dry weed;

my bleeding earth, your silence is safe as my secret; father, I will

be the love of god if you will tell me

there is no Doctor who says he can prescribe medicine

to keep us from feeling ourselves, so that we can better love. I fear

too many have drank from your suffering lips and hold in them

the severed tongue's placid quiet. Where is the ocean we crossed,

your roar;

River, secret father, I worry.

Will you start again on that mountain,

spill down; through my open body, my canyon,

fill me and spill on