He's inside my mouth,
no, beside the road,
clinging to a May cattail.
It gets confusing, what's in,
what's out, like saying the sun's up
or down when we know it's none of those.
And words, even the good ones,
can only pepper the edge
of feelings, and that's what we're after here,
which means going down
the throat to get to where he lives.
But if l start smiling because
there's a bird inside me,
you can guess how long I'll be allowed out,
alone. So, like a few others,
to remain free, I play that down
when pointing to a world
that's not supposed to be,
which only means
they've been piling rocks on me
for years - - - an old Puritan trick - - - to get me
to come around to their god.
I must be Buddhist. The bell
has its own words for it - - - water, wind,
the quiet world a bird brings.
§ § §
The Pie Is Now
