Is poetry the heartbeat
the flashing spearpoint
the burning black obsidian
the sound shaped into
turning, burning earth
holy and hollow
clay shaped by
mud smeared hands
and fingers of fire
Womb bulging mother
shaped to carry water’s
many messages
pottery as poetry
poetry as pottery
the sacred cross
map of all directions
woven into rugs
on cottonwood looms
Is poetry the spirit
breathing us into language
the first beetle’s body
crushed and crucified
a mere smear to etch
breath’s holy meaning
linking symbol and ink?
Is onomatopoeia breath’s
first inspired exhalation
moon tides riding
sun’s spinning light
flint, flash, flesh and splash
sound pounding the ground
pounding hollow trees
pounding gourds
by still trees
and splashing seas
This sound
steady as the wing beat
of migrating birds
my earth beat
found in dancing feet
Is iambic pentameter
cradle and candle
of transubstantiation
happy as a singing stream
gurgling
shaping breath into meaning
mining and minding our minds
that we might become
foot free smithies
ever turning
softly burning
soot free souls
Is education, then,
the mason’s symbol
stone given grace
in beautiful, roofless arches
linking round earth
to rounder sky
born from mosses, sledges,
and sea swaying grasses
obeying the moon’s
green and golden
changing moods
the sun’s steady breath
brought to earth
in the tall, straight talk
of corn stalks
silken gold pollen,
braids of yellow sugar seeds
blessing to the hungry
who must wander,
wonder and whisper
until we are still
below sky’s blue dome
hollow, round and holy
as grandmother’s Hogan home
