Darkened Not Completely Dark

for John Taggart

If we could hear the voice
would it matter
or know the naming of the names
gathered tight then unfurled
like snow between pines
here ground here fowl here fish
and here vault what a sky
brooding it’s enough
to watch the clouds clap
and boil to see the
skin of the river wrinkle
or the feathers on the wrens
lift and fall
to hear the whirr of the wind chase
after days ice cold and stealing branches
to eat oranges for breakfast
and rub sage brush
into ashes or resin
between palms
sticky the root
of the berry bush
is a murmur
under soil formed then reformed
to know or dig after
the sound is something
but to feel
the spirit hovering
before calling like light
is the bell is the light

Water to Live Water to Die

Except that–
this is not a metaphysical choice
this is gut
‘and out of your bellies shall flow
rivers of living water’
this is about the body
body holds spirit here
sings the unserious
blood