Arrière-pensée

in the beginning of sorrows,
in the time when shadows disappear,
make yourself smaller and smaller—
drop into the corner pocket of happiness,
isolated into streams riding the trough
of the dark ocean of waves and particles.

no longer needing the balm of dead poets,
no longer craving the words of September,
or October roses in the sevens and eights,
blue wisteria, escape on the vines—
put it down into the dirt,
into the liberated fodder.

spin in the kaleidoscope of monarchs
at the end of the light of promiscuity.
love tips the scale
and flees with the wildlife.

run to empty meadows,
to the primary source,
to the woods where you crawl
with banana slugs,
giving the whole world your attention.

kick the grassy dunes.
trail your fingers through tide pools of healing,
through tight clusters of clams
and oysters and nautilus.

lemons and ladybugs
ripen toward hibernation,
in continuous prayer with ants
and the souls of plants,
for the care of creation
containing all seasons.

in the grapeshot of evolution,
bend toward silence.
hush in creation’s purpose,
hiding in its essence—
shining in attention,
shining in constellations.

shake the tree of life,
which is art.
take it back to the world,
take it back to the children.

devotion to olives
and sassafras.
the assignment of purpose
is imagination.

and in giving the gift of life,
we give pain.

this way of pain
must be harvested,
for the proof of consciousness
is suffering.

what is the arrière-pensée
behind this gift?

what thought hides
behind the thought of love?

love, in the breath of life,
rattles on.