SCISSORS, PAPER, STONE

1.
I worshipped Poetry
But found he had no bones,
Then bowed to Music's form
To find that she lacked tones.
Now, quiet God, I kneel,
Where silence cuts the veil,
And talk to thee, and touch thy toes,
And sing to thee and thee alone.


2.
I drowned in sleep.
I breathed in sand or sea.
Wearily, I brushed through dust
In layered archeology,
Looking for relic dreams.

My former life
Returned in waves or words.
Warily, I sifted on.
And how the hieroglyphs emerged,
How I endured, immersed.


3.
My ignorance is nest
For my intelligence.
Skylark may sing, but she must rest
While tendrils take the test.

Flight leaves me humble, so much ground
Below the godly rounds.

(Tucson, Arizona, 14 Feb 1989)