the wash

[constantine]

and when you look out over the rim
and see all that has gone before
the layers and strata open
like the diary of god
all beneath this point are dead
you are dust that hasn't settled
you are compacted into grains
weathered and sorted
sandwiched between great reptiles and micro chips
time rains upon your head
until you wash out and away
in streams that cut and meander
dribbling, evaporating into salt flats
crystals of once was
reconfigure into what is
you listen to the eulogy of the mute
you dance upon two legs instead of four
writing poems that replicate
but never quite get there
and all your dreams and ideals
the rock you push and spin
are food for the abyss that stares
hungry in your face, too close
to even recognize, though
it's always been your home
you act as if you are on vacation
and you are

[mnaz]

You know, Dino, I gotta tell you again,
just how much this poem amazes me.

I been fiddlin' with the intro to my story of traveling among the rocks, for way too long, but I think I'm finally satisfied with it. And there it is again, on the next page, your powerful moment of geologic passage. "you listen to the eulogy of the mute"... I try to, believe me.

Anyway, thanks again.

Mark

[constantine]

thanks mark. it is very kind of you to say. i hope your book goes well and i would love to read it.