Storm in the Night That Wakes Us Moon

O now you come in a rut,

in rank and black desire,

to beat the brush, to lash

the wind with your long hair.

Ha! I am afraid,

exceedingly afraid.

           —Linda Hogan

Can’t shake the gloaming of samsara

some days

about the time caffeine peaks

& the world careens off another carbon cliff

my middle heart heads for the exit

all that orphan wants is out

‍

Unsatisfactoriness viewed dispassionately

is probably impossible

but good people give themselves to it

breathing in dense smoke from crematorium ghats

exhaling streaming clouds of good in luminous micrograms

all in the heart-mind-body

‍

The scenography from the documentary shows

but it does not tell

how we got here

ditto

the origin stories

though spooled in reverse

‍

All told it’s left to you to imagine

what the navel of world looks like

on first entering through birth

‍

I picture it sometimes in the afternoon

when I’ve already given up

& am willing to sign off on anything:

‍

A caregiver

utterly surrounds me

like a grass mountain desert forest

wedded to sky river space ocean

‍

it is an inclusive warm melody

consciousness of one thing

connected to all things

flowering, still, flowing

an infinity dazzlingly simple

‍

In such moments

there is no above

below or all-around

only senses stirred

ever quite gently

outward in welcome.

‍

(lightning, thunder)