HYMNING

The appeal that harmony
makes of each bloom
of flesh, each rot
fractal overlapping

matter as light
of its likewise self
shines uncowed by
the sloth of thought

to come as a bloom
of flesh in the open
mouth that is morning’s
body gone song

in the breath sun
makes of its courtly
and distant throb
My son you are weak

beside your own engulfed
manner of flowering
like a shadow that thins
itself into the blade-strew

of rents broaching
the earth and laden
with pinwheel darkness
To blister softly

as the leaves unfurl
and luff in the coil
of wind that wefts
the air to air and

one’s skin to sun’s
simmering orbit
and each gloomy suture
that traces violence

from the world back
to our body belongs
to us as a limb
even as it instantly

absconds like wind
to return in a fled
and phantom pulse
To reenter the margin

of one’s cellular
cacophony only
to stream out in
undignified gulps

when the myriad
splitting atoms turn
over in profusion
To furrow or fold

against the slow greed
that is detachment
so that each coincidence
returns us to the other

and away from the cult
of separation that has
become synonymous with
blind political stupidity

To look upon wood
with the same obvious
glory we do flesh
or some crop of stone

with the same wonder
we mark a child’s
groping frustration
My love I have known

you first and through
that knowing have
remembered a world
so as to reenter it

impurely and perplexed
as befits the senses
which cross in awe
this ever so tenebrous

lurch of moment
that overlaps the next
to form a rhizome
without the benefit

of direction divine
but flowering oblique
with an ignorance
of fear that inhabits

non-human life
To leave humanity
in the great hope
that our entwinement

with the immediate
may extend all as
one’s breath is thrown
to churn amid the air’s

already intoxicating
and transparent muddle