sunrise in a small city

7 is i believe a random number in this case
park avenue
mosher water gaslight company walk east toward buried jones falls
south below first reservoir mountain volcanic royal
to over blastzone coming underground west virginia ohio beyond
centuries ago sunken station dragon fly thousands buried jones falls
cathedral preston howard seating sculptured rhythm
world warring many times from here
ivy green clean swim lanes staying in dolphin
massive ocean just back east deep and shallow bay
sitting buddha shoulder east peace love understanding willow oak
masons time of day crow conversation
west fitted stone vale to eutaw place
north a little northwest not passed north running east west west east
taut stepping necklace of poured concrete square circle triangle teardrop jewels
under would be thankful endeavoring hardwood canopy
would be like everything in around you me
catching throwing fielding arnold who was shot
laurens wilson blastzone east buried coast passenger rail
friends promenade exercise bluff buried jones night mythology falls
park avenue

7 is fountains passed thru
first 2 eyes bubbling up as if geothermally forced 30 strides apart
joy and sorrow evaporating straight up
one built slightly higher water pressure stronger
dark in a tree shadow choppy sea overflowing
squared off edged circular rim to sit upon
other same slightly shorter built subdued water rippling clear gray all ways
third a fountain of genocide
2 step strides all around 36 helpings of pie
around fragile fresh water raining gently from below world upside down
colonizers in a boat the rower with zombie blue glass eyes, walk away
north into a crepe myrtle glade fourth a fountain swan
gladed buffeted calling almost strait up with water on black shallow bowls
mid air time travel suspended a gurgling fotograff her spitting up west
black bowls pouring her water back east
longer north city glade step on moral compass between speeding cars
fifth in wild rose echinacea goldfinch sorts of flyosaurs
loving the small quiet four bowled water from a tiny topping tower
perfectly level dripping from bowl to bowl as the wind blows
back east to the bluff near buried jones falls
sixth and seventh signal each other
uphill fountain smaller shorter water flying sagging loop
quiet sound osage orange tree holding fruit
downhill fountain bigger taller water flying straiter up
old holly dispensing sparrows pigeons
sixth and seventh water yellow industrial pollution light green
nitrogen oxide epa non attainment yellow green
mostly squirrels children walkers canines benches, some sleepers
park avenue

7 is i believe water is a random number
with which to multiply the millions and billions of faucets and spigots of walkers of fountains
park avenue
my fascist treachery legacy

in the mountain not on it
is where the gift of rain falls
very same vault of many shaded sky
we live in might see behind
very same regulator of light in billions eyes
closing opening separate harmonics rhythms
in bent mountain
silence and forest field waters calls and moving in silence

very same messenger from was and will may be
entering the heart of every hero
which is every living thing
gift of rainfall
dreaming edge of valleys of sleep
very same vault of every shade of blue
red orange yellow indigo violet
haft of fall blade of fall
still and waving iris in tall grass
petals in every gradient of night and day
keepers in the wind in mountain trees
very same vault of threads of life
highest branches deepest roots
keepers of heroes
that are every living thing

when i am just water
i will find the blackest smallest vein
in the rock and flow into
first i queue then i spiral down
seeking spectrum of light underground

or ride with the heavy rains
carrying myself away
flying over dry creek bed hard rock made
everything water touching
ribbon of fall stretching a mile and a mile
in moonlight that turns sycamores upside down
to drink the misting air

but when we are just water in the blackest vein
limestone calcium seems and fissures
imagine we are the sweat of rock
unseen sun sequestered all around
dangerous cavern
slow certain seeping speed
ocean of mineral
cathedral of darkness where light is
imagine yourself
tumbling down
down down down underground
tumbling tumbling tumbling down
seeping seeping thru and around
seeping seeping around and around
seeping
seeping
down down down underground
dripping everywhere there is to drip
oozing thru rock pouring in space
finding and making
deep water down underground

suddenly a vast and winding hall
graced by a chihuahua dog
washed in from a human family farm
nearly immortal mineral canine mother
she walks and crawls and sleeps and dives the watery way
every crack and fissure has her measure
every moving being her chihuahua mother blessing
she tends a shoal of jet black darters with gold and silvery stripes
she eats them with ceremony preserving them with life
she licks the cavern bumble bees as they polinate and polish the rock
constant wings fanning watery silence
her saliva limestone phosphorescence
and so their flight

water would stay here forever pleased
but spinning vastness of timely space
lowers the dry creek bed
lets in yellow calcium sipping birds
and bats and night and morning light
the water queues
and has to leave
having waited millions upon millions
of perfectly radiated moon with light

you might go in where the water comes
gently slowly up and out
if you were the life of the soil about
you might pet and sleep with chihuahua mother
if you were the life of the soil about
you might steam the tasty gold silvery striped jet black darters
where earth heat rises
transforming them as you breath
if you were the life of the soil about

in true fact you might try anything
if you were to keep the life
of the soil about

keep the life of the soil about

out of melting mountains are sea
inter olivine twined willow stream
love is only direct, general no
never such another
no other

standing painted paused
or singing thru
the sparrow keeps time when we know it

were the woods a wilderness now civilness
a small fire burning to a person finding a way
would mean sustenance or violence either way
but the woods are couch with imported meadow grass
scattered elm and holly to remember by and by
tarmac baked clay bonded aggregate
constant dawn from light emitting semiconductor
blocks of rock from colliding lithosphere
piled into fine grained crystalline white
supremacy

i walk to the fire despite uncertainty
finding neither sustenance nor violence
but both
strange not camp fire burning since the other day
with our brother inside
living marble eyes to see
passionate speaking lips to kiss
tender ears amplifying thunder and passion
perfectly placed nose collecting molecules of atmosphere
skin sensuous tender touch
all burning violence vacuum of faith

how can i unaccept left smoldering embers of love
lighting way to look for persons missing
human wilderness civil society
see hear smell touch taste

i cannot
say foraging calling crows from ever woods perching all over and about
quarried white
supremacy

burning into soft sticky mass
friable
out of firedamp and bags of foulness
sign of life first cells
blooming whatcha call it
i am that
even on my back on a steel bench staring up and out an airport skylight
waiting for the light
rail
soil life
rising up breathing
upon trillions
on billions
on millions on thousands
on hundreds on tens
on this one spine
i am that fungal vertibrate
when to be shovelled away
burned with so many salamanders
source of so many waters
Till theyUME UNenthrall themsUSelves:
where is the
soul of a mountain forever lost

i for one until the end of this poem
am not laughing
a graft is a grail is not a gleam
streams unstreamed for pell mell rail
thirtysix spirits driven forever
until the next great universes veil
am not laughing at
extruded methane rattling in the ojo of fallen water

i was transported in a bus in the dark
into a place
where water stops to breathe
and so beautiful light darkness before sunrise revealed

a slow pause of stream
suddenly becoming a seeming sea of its own

gladelike idyllic alabama woods secluded
creek roiling down hard sediment from old mountains of old seas
a sea cascading down
triple the height of old tall trees
a sea with its own rising clowds of
water and air as nowhere else anywhere
a brief fast forceful sea at whose bottom
after whirl of portal of roaring whitewater
three stone throws from the pause of the creek above
another seeming
this time a lagoon
to forever
gated by hardwood and pine

so in still water as if a horizon
below creek as sea a late moon finds schooling fish
loving lantern sister of earth
transcending into as they move about
freshly stirred still water almost to vortex at bottom of falls
where full force of water tons
water and passing moments
fish glowing seen thru superslowmotion stream sea shapeshifting clouds

i feel the youghiogheny since fivehundred moons
as a young man curled in a ball
born under the roaring
water from viginia mountains coming to the great gulf
now dream of being chained under this stream vortex
to shred away

i borrow and give back fourhundredseventythree words
reimagining story of tiesnake spirit underwater
slithering with power greater than tons
pulling under
whichever it might choose
this snake black and secreting extruding methane in the ojo of fallen water

less than hundreds we walk as more than thousands
slowly down both steep stream banks toward the glowing swimming fish
hands on trees and jutting rocks feet on steep soil moss and rock
into still water a circle around fish all swimming water ballet
they leave beneath us we breast stroke toward the falls
and join hands rising to stand
waiting
waiting
treading
glowing ourselves in sister moon
and then tiesnake chooses

but it matters not which no hands let go
strength more than millions we walk as chain
holding eachother
into and part of creek roiling down hard sediment from old mountains of old seas
black tiesnake dragging behind
up through superslowmotion shapeshifting clouds
up to idyllic alabama slow pause of stream
we wade in and circle all dancing water soiree
black tiesnake drifts toward sun not sister moon we let it go

now i am lauging
and splashing

and breathing with water

between vineyard and garden
the pangs of a beetle upon death
a tiny crack in vast nontemperate space
our hero a woman
whose only justice
is giving

night before
some dance around campfire
beside busy highway
i want to lose my soul
into the very air
thru moving hands and feet
toes and fingers

morning of
some speak to many circled
masked huddled drizzling rain
“words before all else
this life is sacred
water is life
one great mother river
my ancestors and all their relatives”

just as
flocking many blackbirds in tall trees
setting way on the road
crow and hawk
face to face breathing together
on rowhouse rooftops
and treetops allover the island
agree

coming days for always many walking in

land stolen words stolen from anishinaabe prayer