Tell them I’m struggling to sing with angels
who hint at it in black words printed on old paper gold-edged by
time
Tell them I wrestle the mirror every morning
Tell them I sit here invisible in space
Nose running, coffee cold and bitter
Tell them I tell them everything
& everything is never enough
Tell them I’m another cross-wired babbling being
songs coming out all ends to meet & flash above the disc above my
brain
Tell them I’m a dreamer, new-born shaman
sitting cross legged in trance-stupor
turning into the magic feather contemplated
Tell them there are moments when clay peels off my bones
& feeds a river passing faces downstream
Tell them I’m davening & voices rise up from within to startle
children
Tell them I walk off into the woods to sing
Tell them I sing loudest next to waterfalls
Tell them the books get fewer, words go deeper
some take months to get thru
Tell them there are moments when it’s all perfect
above & below, it’s perfect
even moments in between where sparks in space
(terrible,beautiful sparks in space)
are merely metaphors for the void between
one pore & another

-David Meltzer