The Blue Book

It Becomes You

Here’s that old feeling,
sitting in blue and white
by the window,
afternoon sun slanting in,
whispering an invitation to listen
to the electric pulse of it all,
blown out because listening well
implies a lack of a control,
a kind of love and a peace
with loss for what falls
between words.

Clouds and water and a conscious way
rivers have invented to reach across,
join the rhythm of another, trusting
that the outcome was always assured,
was always just the sea,
blue unity and endless waves,
as if there were in the rise and fall
hints about love and a kind
of relationship to sound that waits
in the still depths, still you
speaking to yourself as you stride
deeper and deeper into the world,
down the famished road, rainbows
and shipwrecks and sandy grace:
all of it the most simple thing,
a single thread set free by
rolling thunder.


The Frontier is Everywhere