Worldvoice of Things

wherespeaks the worldvoice of things,
there i gather myself
underneath the fingernail of sky
to cherish what goes unspoken
of all our humble days

i drink in the underflow of senses,
that unsymboled current
uninterpretable,
slow as sprouting troves of phlox

sunshine, all there,
spun from the loom of gods,
and tamarind seeds un-poded
with dark flesh off-sucked
like so many
shine-smooth pebbles in my palms;

flowers, too, forsythia the first
to show, with dewdrops held as clear as words
i know to eat
before grows the midnight maiden tree

what shall i do
after this experience,
this talent of warm pigments that clings
to my tempered skin
like a scent-suite of violins gardening
the air of day, sweet-ferning glow
of earth
at the bonding of my
desireless being?

what do i take of wherespeaks
this otherness of effluence, this ever-choir
of eloquent Elsewhere?

that comes with its
perfection of kissing songs, such the
fill of air, this gracetake music
that touches me near by drawing down
in remembrancesome hints of calling,
approaching my heart
as untakeable excess of vibrations?

what shall i do but
ready space for the dwelling spring
of an opening, preparing for
Elsewhere to come
as i divest this presence of objects
within the bonding naivete
that brings me to love at home
through the bubble of a finding place
with that which bursts upon having,

i bask, chomp, inhale
inhabitations of pixiedust, and move
into an endowment of reels, those
alligator wheels of musesome dreams
that leather my cheeks,
tune my eyes to godhead trails
wherespeaks the worldvoice of things

 

© J. Celan Smith