I have observed too many sunsets to search for gods
beyond earth’s endless horizons, tipped backward
out of rafts into one too many roiling icy streams,
floated face-down in countless salt-laden seas,
wondering what would appear in that vast expanse of sapphire,
flash of silver, pelagic bodies schooling along, rippling gills
of giant manta heading straight into view;
and why would I long for anything grander
than this manifest miracle of creation?

Even behind eyelids in unseen realms bypassing common vision
where splendor awaits, revealing to astonished senses half-truths
in half-tones, langourous variegated tapestry glimpsed as if
through frosted windowpanes, unsure what is real and
in what context;

My garden, on the other hand, yields fruit piled high
in hands urging harvest from tiny seeds packed into sepia soil
forgotten by live volcanoes still spitting lava flowing
into watery swells, stretching perimeters of island mass,
biding time until time, itself extinguishes and the world
we presume to know slips ineluctably out of awareness,
beneath waves of consciousness, disappearing,
as all things must, into the mist of memory.

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