You roam the Andes
where the morning rays kindle your beak.
The solid granite supports you
when your wings do not flail the air.

Sometimes, I imagine myself O Lord
a pair of parched lips
freed from the desert.

Flashy soap bubbles flutter out of the flute.
Reeds tremble
and sea samphires twitter in the stream
in the gushing water.

I looked at a leaf
with the thousand faceted eye of an ant.
In front of me was spread the tapestry
in which I saw
the green blood of vegetation pullulating.

Blood
has in it the intensity
of cobalt suns
crushed in measureless crucibles.

From the pupil of the sun
Beethoven
plucked a granule.

There is a stairway built of clouds with stardust encrusted.
Wave upon wave heavenwards ascending…
the vision of the kingdom
like multiple choirs of cherubim and seraphim ascending.

I’m the parched Arizona desert.
By day a blaze of flames dawdling
over an everlasting emptiness.

Tonight I’ll grasp the blade ‘twixt my teeth.
and we’ll take to the floor
to dance the tango
under the plucked strings of the stars
dribbling daggers of tears.