I write not for my arts sake...
I write for my hearts ache...

I write not to remind myself...
I write to re-mind myself...

Walking
in Rumi’s country
feeling the words
wrapping themselves
around me.

when I awaken
I extend my finger
towards a panel of dancing light-

did you know that its veins were torn from a mountain?

a whole hierarchy of angels
living inside the earth
were turned to transistors

so that my letters
could glow in your hands.

when I learned this
I began sleeping beside a stream,

in the places where I could watch
wires dance-

beneath wooden pillars and their flimsy black arms
whispering secrets in permanent embrace.

every night I would dream  
to the forward noise
of churning water;

of fluid drifting through the air unseen
or pouring from life long past-

terraforming
for the maintenance of symmetry.

A swarm of bees hum?
Thrilled earth receives cumulonimbus sting ;
Mind is on a swing!