To
say with words what is not seen is what i would like my poetry to begin.
What
is utterable?
The
unseen groans of my very alive hum, in unison, with all that is, unutterable
You
see the sea is as clear as it is unknowable.
From
here a distant continuous drone, never ending in its crystal twinkle.
White
spectres spit and fidget and caress its bluer than true surface.
Plumb
the depths of this place
space
as timeless as its waiting.
Always
behind my thoughts,
bemused
in its humility, by my ego.
confused
in its simplicity by us,
anomalies
of the hill.
This
green and yellow hump of haze which hosts all of California, ill or enlightened
both
they
trape up here to drink their fill
fill
of you God.
God
you honour our searching in presence
Sweet
ready presence, a scent like these yellow flowers.
Remind
us and me, all those in this world, of your steady unknowable hum and drone
that is free beneath and beyond our sickness and our saving
Our
complexity and ego forever washed by the pacific which surges through us
always.
Jack
Kerowack wrote what the pacific told him, from these very shores.
Jack
was a Catholic of sorts,
catholic
in tastes and crisis,
and
as catholic as any priest, so judges the pacific drone.
