The Japanese say that even the other side
has another side. We need to keep turning
things over in our minds until we can see
them in circles of motion, in spirals, in
the complete roundness of their being, through
all the cycle of becoming, undoing, renewing.
We need to turn ourselves around, in order to
see our journey in its full-spiraled progression,
to see how the edges blur, to see how sometimes
there are no sides at all.

forget growing roots
I will travel down into the earth myself
the earth herself traveling so fast
I am pressed prone against her
sleep, push me further
the spaces between the soil are all I need
I seep as far as the underworld
land of the dead and dreams
to hold my breath longer
my only wish
but when the time comes
I must percolate back up
one bit at a time
into wakefulness

We buried it in the backyard.
the way it folded up and fit into a shoebox
was no less disconcerting than the way it had fallen,
left nothing behind,or the way ordinary dirt covered
it up and crab grass tried to grow there.

All this time all our concern
had been focused on things below us and
what would happen if the bottom fell out and
we fell out of power. so much time wasted on
watching our own feet, and still tripping.

I think Up has our attention
now. it is all I think about. not feet but
wings, and never mind that humans fly like doves
confused by traffic lights. still we shall have to
rise up and put in a new sky

I wished for a dream
I was given the night
deep and endless and utter

I have found many dreams here
and in absence of light
different ways to see

________________________________

I wished for a dream
I was given the night
deep and endless and utter

I have found in my daughter
and in absence of light
different ways to see

*bombs* go off
light bulbs go *on*

I am of this world
emphatically
I am of this world
utterly.
That is how it speaks to me
That is how I speak to it.
Why, just today, my hands have
found their way into gloves
and dirt and dishwater
laundry heaped, wet, clean
trash bags, diaper bags, doggy bags,
kitchen cabinets with knives and medicine and dishes.
They've touched spiders and ants and beetles
and one poor dead lizard
grass and sticks and rooty things
concrete and broom handles and hammers and drills
dry wall, plumbing putty, caulk, tape
cucumbers, avocados, peppers, celery, onions, carrots, mushrooms
and blood.
They've rolled sushi, snatched french fries, poured water
petted the dog
stroked the cats
held my husband
held my daughter's hand
handed my son his sweater
driven the car, popped the trunk,
stroked the trunk of trees at the park
crossed bridges
pushed shopping carts and gathered groceries.
They've picked up wooden train sets
keys, chapstick, cell phones,
blankets, books, bendaryl,
all kinds of remotes
the entire cast of Sesame Street
and who knows what else really
and typed all this on the computer
and that was just my hands.
If I were to say that I am not of this world
I think my mouth would fall off
from sheer hypocrisy.
I am very much of this world
and I love it
and I can take care of it
and I can change things for the better.
Heaven, hell- been there, done that,
most likely will see both again shortly
and other worlds- I'm of them too
it's not exclusive
when all these things
are made out of
the very same stardust
that I am.

but then my inner child says
RELEASE THE KRAKEN
and forgets about editing
forever
or at least
for five more minutes