Creases (Autumn)

Novemberous, the body a warm sliver
in frigid field, stark letter
on page.

Amid the panoplied
cicatrice of branches, splay
of angles swim in flame, in spectrum-
petalled autumn: somewhere in
there, the dirt is firm as death
and resurrection, shared
marginalia of earth & air, & we
are scenery the gorgeous forest stares.

Lean down & whisper histories
in the upturned ears of flowers.
Go in. Tug up
the scurf. Lay theorems,
accountings, poems
there in the hungry nave.

Aloft, gold flecks
of light revolving float
down & up, alight
upon pond, unlock
& lock
as tesserae, leaf’s toothy
algorithmic edge, as form
which is proportion which is always
almost breaking

as the great lake: its
coruscant facets
etched everyhere

St. Gregory describes us rising, sleuthing
remnant atoms across
the universe, the pulse of self still resonant

Not atom but PERSON is the fundamental thing.
Not space but RELATION.

I want to be simple
as sand,
as years between sands

as pattern which is ratio which is word which is wilderness which is sacrifice which is love

If the doors of perception were cleansed
If the dark matter were swept away
If 90% of the body’s cells are not human

then what is it that prays in us?
then stars would fill the spaceless sky
then we would see things as they are.