The Mustard Petal
What the dead need to be everlasting is what a god needs to die
which is what a sun needs to shine & what dirt needs to come alive.
Yawning Abyss
Look In Grass
The empty vessel is expectant. The expectant vessel is pregnant.
If the one is the sun when it dies, and the other when it shines,
or the one nourishing fruit, the other seed with root---life-giving
is the ground of dark, this vessel of vessels.
Proving Ground
Like a river of death, the yawning abyss sheds its energy, heaves its sediment & meanders remote films of water---shudder of life, this trembling emptiness.
Like interstellar waste, this insensible, yawning abyss rushes the breach & swells the pores absent those who thrive & perish, unnoticed in soil.
Like a spirit upon the deep, a wild universe conceives this empty extreme whereby the faithful isopod beneath a rock is bound for heaven.
Those in despair see only a seething power writhing with obscure passion & not this pore of fatality pregnant with the everlasting.
To those of no sight, it is called the depth of darkness. To those afflicted with the absolute, it is not a lively death, not this absence in sediments, not the increase & waste of the infinite.
Look at how it opens in spring rain & makes a planet! Look at how the rotifers, water bears & nematodes; at the chytridic saprobes & arbuscular mycorrhizas; the potworms, ants, mites & beetles; at the wood lice & earwigs; the roots of grass & tree, their buried seed—look at how they open like starlight in the dark of night; at how they move through the withdrawn absence like the trembling of infant suns.
See how the anguish of an ocean dies in a nascent stream sprung from the terrible mountain.
See how the shudder of Love by this heaving sediment, gathers its energy.
A Growing Universe
Fruits of the tree of Love, such as death & sex, are ripe ovaries of excess
that make a flower extant. Out in the fecund emptiness they conceive
the everlasting, these consequential seeds of decay & increase
whose engendering the great Tree of Dark intends. Let the perished
be infinite & the eternal, a day---manifest in every sealing
of the buried ovule are immortals who open & swarm a flower
with conspicuous ecstasy!
Solum
The Nature Of Nothing
Love is the crucial presence that “being away” anticipates. Absent the sun is its prior sentiment. The emptiness come to life in death, is Love extant—wait for the world to turn away to find its conspicuous, excessive darkness.
Great Horned Owl
To Come Between Is How Love Matters
The A of alive is not the A of absence, yet absent it, a matter of Love has been removed—a being away that means to be found. The live of a wolf spider is absent such an A when deprived the presence of God, just as the A of absence is live with emptiness & immortals deprived the relics of novae are only live in it.
To be alive is to recover it. The dead are live till they have found the dark ground & to be at a loss reveals this, like a fertile valley reveals a mountain’s lively death.
Absent it is like a river live with sediment.
Pick up a rock & look for a relic still live with immortality. Go to the mountain & behold a matter of Love (this promised land) live with the everlasting.
Conjugation Revealed!
Of the buried worm & of the sudden puddle. The prokaryote’s pilus. What the vacuum grows into & mountain geraniums grow out of. An excess in the fallen raven. That penetrate the ecstasies of soil. What funnel weavers learn from. Of the cricket’s remains & a red breast’s appetite. That cradles root caps. Of carbon feculence. What the sun will arouse. In rain’s waste & absence. Of seeds & their forthright treeness. In sac fungi's perithecium. Of a deity’s putrescence. That penetrate the excessive, astral dark. Of the wind-thrown pine & forthright immortality. In the gut of birds. In the bowels of termites. The oily bladders of slime mold. The despair of philosophers. That vultures envy. That makes space. That empties the Milky Way. That the dead ravish because the worm has faith.
Outside History
my fellow red breasts. our cousins vulgaris. the land of wood. the terrible falcon. the sun & moon. dust & seeds. embryos & leaves. swarms of grass. rain in dirt. the delicious worm. thieving crow. nesting ant. the wild wind. crouched rabbit. fearful dog. all those who weave webs. all those that fly into them.
robin red breast
Whose Fruit Are Nebulae
Just as there’s a budding river above every sea, there’s an ovule of dark in every seed. Its radicle seeks the humus daedalea of immortal trees, there by the river of death, flower of the everlasting.
