the masts of a giant ship fill the entire horizon. we all stand astonished on the beach. what thoughts are flowing into the land? what immense suggestion is rising far out there? yesterday, a flute player stood at the door of the city; here, there was once a stadium that had been long neglected where everyone who was unloved gathered and worshipped a rose. The music of the flute sounds over the white seats and is lost beyond them. two men grab me and force a bird’s beak into my mouth. the ship begins to lift on the waves; when I was a child, I was told stories about God. A man said to me, “God is a large blue tree filled with humming birds; He is exquisite and urgent.” A woman said “God is a fountain that erupts hair instead of water.” Now, I laugh and cross and recross the excitement surrounding Him.
To The World
for so long I have wanted to be free to love you. I was withheld by fear; it made blisters on my breasts; and now, I see a column of light approaching; oh Christ, it used to move through dung, it is a beam beneath a person flying— you, man, or woman, I would come to your womb, for a man has a womb also, a deep warm place within him to calm agitation and create. He, too, needs to bear a child. and now, let that secret be known that the sun throws into the window pane with one glowing lance: you are in the intimate places of me. all my life I have wanted to write this poem.
