I Have Heard

It is possible that love escapes,

only to whisper silently,

that daffodils buried underground

stir as shadows retreat,

that a sunset woven into a field of rye

encourages heartache to laugh

delicately, then robust and full.

Sometimes, a beat up pick-up truck

brings happiness

or it might tell a different story,

one where a collapsed rear fender

and broken tail light are what follow

repetitive lies, too much whiskey, slow

simmered ribs and a sour stomach.

Those risen from the dead

often hear sunflowers turning.

Those who do not rise, stay soaked

in rain-filled quagmires.

It is probable that suffering stops,

no matter what.

I have heard that such relief

comes as dervishes spin or during mediation,

prayer, twelve clicks on a rosary.

However, it is unlikely that this nation

under God will understand

tears woven into the being of a man

held down . . . his mouth forced open . . .

I have heard that a lilting lemon tree

may listen to laughter rising

from those unable to breath

and in doing so,

turn sadness draped down and through

into yellow and seed.

Occasionally, roots from the soles

of our feet spread into soil.

Through our moist and pliable skin,

all runs its course to the end.

Incantation One

If the scar of the mountain

                            is as beautiful as the mountain,

let the mountain heal the scar.

If the scar of the mountain

                            is as beautiful as the mountain,

let the mountain heal the scar.

The mountain rises from desert.

                            When seen from a gaseous giant star,

the mountain lays down flat.

Both is and is not.

The mountain. The scar.

The scar rises from broken hands.

                            When hands break God laments.

When God rises from broken hands,

                            flowers burn iridescent.

Let the scar heal the mountain,

let the scar heal the hand,

let the scar heal God’s lament.

If the scar of the mountain

                            is as beautiful as the mountain,

let the scar heal the mountain.

Let the scar bring forth twilight orange.

Let the scar bring forth cottonwood ethereal plumes.

Let the scar bring forth a yellow desert flower.

We are the ones that move.

We are the ones that see.

We are the ones that heal

                            when we see the mountain move.

We are the ones that heal

                            when we see that the mountain cannot move.

Both is and is not.

The mountain. The scar.

Both heal and do not.

The mountain. The scar.

We are the ones that see.

We are the ones that move.

We know and we cannot.

Both is and is not.