if but one
poem my body orders up this sabbatical Saturday

if but one more only  
leaves these orifices ever,

then this shall be the one,
that will survive

you may find yourself reciting it
tramping in New England snows,
on English moors,
Oregon rainy driving all day to a loved one
picking garlic in the Northern field,
California deserts unending,
being driven in a Delhi tuk-tuk
while blinded by darkness,
knocked to the ground by my city’s car horns honking
me me me

drowning on your knees in
church or the bedroom floor,
when you come together inside
our    one
body’s brain wavelength

spoke with and in the
urgency electric elegance,
issue of your tissue,
freed with reluctant and reckless courage,
in sync to a beating tambourine in your
moist creating organs,
this homily but a few words:

the only purpose of life is the next step