Nomos: Shaping the Land. Physis: That Shapes Us.

1

RELIGION ON A MONDAY MORNING I walk to the altar of stone and take my confession where the spring unceasingly flows; pull out pails pails of ‘never-minds’ to cool my priestly burning.2

3

My communion is by the side of a country road, a tapestry of spring hues hangs before me. The hymns are bird songs, long memorized.4

5

I look to the east and an new born orb rises to the flutter of fresh plants. It died for no one, but lives each day— a steady resurrection for the seeing6

7

And lowering my head to the humble spring, I drink from this chalice, whose mystery from some deep dark rock pool I can never fathom. And this church is all around me— its stained glass morning sky— and God is here in the wind.8

9

READING BIOGRAPHIES OF FAMOUS MEN After the first million words, I’ve found out that Jack Kerouac screwed Gore Vidal and/or vice versa. After asked if he were gay, Trudeau said, “Let me have your wife for an hour! Just watch me.” This rubble trivia pins me under the blast path of my insatiability. A weak pick, finally stronger, pounds: Mind your own animus. Send pipes to it, deep down. Mine your gems in darkness. Shine your light there.10

11

MIDDLE EARTH For the Chilean miners buried half a mile down Beyond this continental trap of ego mined, hard with daemons (gems of endless wanting), black angels are shining on my monitor from middle earth, barely scraping a living from falling rocks, which fell on them. Everyone wonders how they are calm in dark, in dank, with little drink or meat. Is it such a mystery? Their Rock is not of the earth, but in the seam outside the seen. From my hard rock bed, in shock and awe, I view their plight one foot away, but know how deep they are. Tasting a different dust I may never make it out unless the fool’s gold self I seek implodes or I can drill a shaft to where they are.12