Spolia

I come to pass.

What have I to do
with the fulness of time?

Ever seeing but never
perceiving the old paths of the seas.

There shall be and there was
and all that.

Return and lie down, moon,
to the cave, to the house.

To the prayer, come soon.
If you touch the socket, I will
teach you the fear.

Your words increase and
multiply and fill my mouth

with swarms of living.

I go down to be
called by a new name
according to the voice

of the sun in
the wilderness:

“Your hand in the book
and the oak are one
flesh.”

What are the heavens?
Not only the stars filled with creeping things,
the revolving year in his thick clouds.

We have viewed the high places,
a veil of blue and purple.
We grope for the wall like the blind.

Our Father the whirlwind passes and says
“I will take away. I will not turn away.”

The patterns of things look down at us
through the brightness, through the scent of water.

What hast thou that thou
hast not received?

Any green thing in
the trees sends a message
in the body or out of the body,

according to the circuits returning
to himself.

Those that seek rejoice.

Poor in spirit, I will go out
unto the unto.

Ask the beasts, and they shall teach thee.

Feel after and find into the connections,
the spirit that fills all things:

I open my mouth in the middle of your hand.