Like everyone else I've served my time
lying under the weight of a mountain,
breathing stones...yet always my blood,
like leveling water, knows where it's wanted.

                            
		*
         

Once I had a whitewater vision:
beneath the rage of the rapids I sensed
the undersound of the river's sound...
indistinguishable from silence.

		*

Who am I? Not a solving...a seeing.
I'd view the storm through eyes of calm.
I'd speak to say
where the silence is.

               	 *

On days when it seems the food for the journey
is clay, not bread, and the spirit famished,
as dusk transfigures everything
I pause, near silence: listening.