I Opened My Vein To Viridian Shadows
~ a poem of contentious communion ~
we part ways
yet again. You head back
towards a black cube
— though I have to say, in the midst of a desert
I like the matte obsidian of it —
and I, turning right, then left
past last summer’s bright swimming pool,
down a steep dogwood-lined path go towards
still, silent lake waters and then the woods —
coral cathedrals full of jasper shadows, carnelian rustlings.
Beyond the shadow of your house,
must lie level sands, then small humps of dunes,
shifting between contour
— small surcease for a thirst-crazed lizard —
and flatness. Then pubescent dunes,
more dunes, and loftier ones
full of desert sounds,
reverent tunnels that echo your name
over and over again.
How grand that must sound!
And all ages of stars, your children, calling
to each other, pulsating in indigo night skies of the desert
How sharp the air,
crystalline essence of the Hajj! I envy you
your expanses full of no doubt, divine signs.
Dear God, down by my woods
which grant me serenity in snatches, there were times
when I blundered and fell
with pain in my gut,
pain that came from you and mankind
and myself I fell,
and the only open arms I found were
sometimes barren limbs of larches or maples;
Sometimes holy green oaks and junipers held me close.
And I opened my vein to viridian shadows in a despair of sorts,
waited for a god, any god, to come my way.
Then one day, I found your pulse,
even as my roots stood deeply intertwined
with the compassion that bloomed in those woods.
Between you and musky roots I was graced with ephemeral completeness.
That was not the first of many times we would meet. And part.
And meet again.
Tell me, God,
If I visit your splendiferous kingdom of wind-swept crescents,
will you confide why you spoke to prophets in a desert?
And if I ask,
will you tell me why beings such as us
are destined to be weeds in your garden,
bringers of sorrow to each other?
Can you fill me up with absence of loneliness?
Which brings me to the question:
Where do you spend more time —
Up there in stellar canopies ensconced,
Or within inviolate black mansion mysteries?
I, as millions around me, am all too
Steeped in fragmentation’s marinade.
Tell me, O Omnipresent One,
If you are everywhere at once when do you pull yourself together?
Dear God, you of course, must know
when we will meet again, as I wait in thralldom.
I feel no anxiety, no terrors of abandonment.
We will meet again to lock horns
though your might is mightier
than any notion of might might be.
You in your omniscient wisdom
might recall that on a day of despair,
in the woods of confined innocence,
I opened my vein to you…
Goodbye dear God,
till we meet again,
out there in wide