I Long For The Imperishable Quiet At

Long Live The Weeds That Overwhelm My Narrow Vegetable Realm! The Bitter Rock, The Barren Soil That Force The Son Of Man To Toil; All Things Unholy, Marred By Curse, The Ugly Of The Universe.

I Always Felt Mean, Jogging Back Over The Logging Road,as If I Had Broken The Natural Order Of Things In That Swampland;disturbed Some Rhythm, Old And Of Vast Importance,by Pulling Off Flesh From The Living Planet;as If I Had Committed, Against The Whole Scheme Of Life, A Desecration.

A Terrible Violence Of Creation,a Flash Into The Burning Heart Of The Abominable;yet If We Wait, Unafraid, Beyond The Fearful Instant,the Burning Lake Turns Into A Forest Pool,the Fire Subsides Into Rings Of Water,a Sunlit Silence.

Being, Not Doing, Is My First Joy.

But When I Breath With The Birds, The Spirit Of Wrath Becomes The Spirit Of Blessings, And The Dead Begin From Their Dark To Sing In My Sleep.