Lineages 1

Raising the blind to the sky that lies blank
above the mind that lies lazy and lank,

or so it seems until a cormorant
cleaves the serene sea; seeing and seas slant

into voids that swell into surfaces
of the lost eye’s sparrow’s cry; the spaces

fall and crash and splash into scintillas
of silence, of black masses of oompahs

that clash with the blues of the jazz that flows
over the topographies of shadows

and dissipates into the gift of tears
enfolding the geographies of years

in dust the mother kneads into it all
until we and all rot and rise and fall

and return to dust that reeks of the lust
of the lost bodies that stink of the must

of coming together to bang, to bear,
the cosmos into forms and words that tear

it all apart, in the dawn’s early light,
when the sky lies, the mind lies, blank and bright.