| He was a man who knew how to braid
language into art. He made wild claims,
said he was aware of places the wind
could hide once its hush applause left
the trees. He said anyone can enter
these places who truly understands how
alike the strangest things become when
they pour and empty themselves into one
another. He said they are arenas in which
unions between garments and weavers
take place, a realm of existence where
beauty and truth are less than half
the matter, where bones and thistles
explain how much more they are than whims.
He insisted there is perjury in most prayer,
and sometimes it is a criminal act
to answer them. He claimed wisdom
and truth are the parents of all things good,
ignorance and superstition children waiting
to be taught and enlightened. He said
there is no such thing as sin, only saintliness
in various stages of growth doing their
very best to learn what it takes to dance. |