Friday, September 25, 2009
Turn your body to face your hatred now -
And meet your long campaign there -
On it beats and on and on.
What did you expect to learn by staying there?
March on then, climb, rise
To higher flatland - dry grass then far off shoreline -
Even higher, the earth on this path
Stays blood red, dry, cracked.
Please listen to me!
My prayer is for your opening.
Shout out the first word that comes
Make that the start of what you seek
And listen for the voice that answers -
What are the words whispered?
Do remembrances slice you?
Does the past pass through?
When your march reaches the coast
Remember the sugar loaf we crave and salt wind we kiss
Open onto the waves as they slam the cliffs
What rain do you expect?
How long can you last?
Face prospects and not the past in this moment!
I've heard of a place other than this one
Found that when the words escape
You may know only that you are lost.
Call it by the first name that comes
Ask, listen, ask again.
Consider the answer to be your first step.