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All the various incarnations of Buddha are telling me today Combinations of elements that might Direct me toward you. Everything is emerging in its true and violent Forms as the turning world Gravitates on its absent stem. How am I to know one of your Inventions from the next? When crates of Jelly explode on the docks, when Kernels of unpopped corn are found Loitering in the bag’s bottom, Maybe then you will turn to me, Naming them one after another, Opening with your tongue the inscrutable Progression of letters that rear their Queer heads above the chain-link fence. Rather than finding each its place, you Signify them by their hopeless Travels beyond what is known, Unmarred by the fatuous Variations of time. Where will they go then, this Xylophonic bestiary, Yowling unspeakable names to the Zero of hearing? |
