“Magical You”

I have been searching for You
all my life
on hidden paths
in secret places
long poplar avenues
where no bird sings
lonely points
where oceans meet
and spirit-trees live
on salt-strewn rocks

places with no punctuation
groundless grammar
of the unspeakable
where magic lives
unsignified
I falls into the void
and all he sees
are faraway mountains
pure snow white
whole in reality

a place that the poet sings
to You
dearest friend
full of possibility
in that plunging moment
come to meet
the man who writes me
carefully arranged
in crawling signs
and yet
he dreams of magic!

“History”

Human history is the
march of atrocities
followed by the generations
of generations of scholars,
devouring dusty runes
to bury truth once more
like ink-armed cooks
keeping the masses fed,
distracted,
so that the battle may be
met just over the hill,
close enough to hear,
but invisible
to the camped millions
patiently waiting.

Waiting for
something
to burst in,
something
to blow away the leaves
of lost generations,
something
to get at the thing itself,
something
sound and silence,
life and death,
being and