Clamor at ecstasy.
But ecstasy sings the blank space
on the pages between each word is [INAUDIBLE] exquisite,
when spoken true.
First, I learned to forget how the clouds billowing into storm
took other shapes, the thunder head as the sparrow's wing,
the tulip wilting, the toad with bulbous eyes,
and see only the cloud itself.
Noted in my journal how the wind and upper atmosphere
can bend a wisp into a circle.
Noted the spring congest into storms, the clouds progressing
by circular up-swellings as if a liquid boiling,
and the under edge of each node, a darker gray limbed in blue,
the shadow by which the cloud grows in definition.
Exquisite when spoken, each word rings with one note.
Orion plucks on his shimmering bow,
vibrates also in the bow of the pine,
and the worm which feasts on the pine, as it grows.
Then forgot the words to the clear tone.
Then forgot to speak.
Then my blood vibrated with the working of the tree.
Then a book was leaves on water spread out,
so the water couldn't be seen.
Then ecstasy rippled.
Then the stars were on the water.
Then I looked up.
Then I forgot the constellations, Orion, Hydra,
Dipper, Bear, and only saw the light piercing
through the dark.
Then I had no story but this poem.
All I can say is that I live and breathe and have my thoughts.
We are the still Earth, a dark toad in the mouth of a snake,
and the snake's mouth upon us is light.