The Tenth Day
Over the last nine days,
I not only seem to have lost my identity's face, name, and way
But vanished into a landscape of interlacing desolations,
From which there's no reasonable escape,
Save for my making a radical, elemental transformation,
By becoming a cave's breathing pools, tributaries, rivers,
Or the air itself, filled with clouds raining upward, into the stars,
Or a mountain stretching and heaving beyond horizon's edge,
Or a forest extending endlessly into itself,
As if it alone knows how to seek shade from the merciless sun.
Whatever the case may be, after these last nine days,
Anything left of my moldering flesh, bones, spirit, and soul
Is totally unlocatable, in the cold, dense forgetting
That's enfolded all memory of me, in the bosom of its immensity.
This tenth day will complete my disappearance's minyan.
02/09/11 - (2)