Thursday, December 24, 2009


Tonight I sit on my couch and watch for you
and I can see the light of the moon on the street.
I picture you in your car,

Sitting in darkness with music,
the night all around you,
headlights and moon on the road.

What is the strength of a vision? Maybe
you are not in your car, coming
back to me, Missouri from Kentucky.

Neils Bohr saw electrons in the laboratory
and said our cosmos depends on observation:
If you have a vision, you will see it.

Even Ezekiel saw the destruction of the Temple
years before it began. He started
mourning so when Judah really fell

he was ready to live again.
So I sit here on the couch, eyes closed, and
I am with you, unseen, in your car, and will it so.

We are pushed and pulled each day by
contradictory forces, standing up against gravity
and drawn always toward the center of the earth

its moltenous, destructional core.
Is that why we seek the cold
loveliness of the moon? Her constant presence,

changing, shape.
Tonight I feel buoyed up
thinking not of destruction

but of the temple as a body.
Remember the Phoenix, how it rose up
spread its wings in the ashes and flew?

So it is with Ezekiel, and me on the couch,
while you, mile by mile from Kentucky,
drive though the silver dark

the moon at your side as she guides you
with her green levitational pull.

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