That the sun begins its life in the palm through the eye That the poem must be ignited in the heart That the poet must be ready to jump off the edge smiling And the clouds of white move across the morning sky blue And everything has a mouth and a stomach That the end is only the beginning And these circles I make with my mind have reason And my bones will remain in the ground after I die That the smoke will remain rising after the fire And the whole ground was burnt in a grey texture The green and the golden of the saw grass swaying tantalizing Taunting the loneliness in my shoulders and arms That the afternoon descends in a purple hidden In the cypress until it too awakes cautiously That the soul wonders alone in a watery forest That the sun sets in an orange yearning (I will not soon forget the feeling of vastness An open prairie and the emptiness involved) That the gate to heaven is locked tightly But one can slip in backwards on their spine And the moon will shine if it can like a pearl Hidden in the bottom depths of space like a seashell And the somber piano cords of the night descending Can make even the strongest man cry That the salty streaks are like rivers to the ocean gliding That one never truly wakes, wakes from the dream That the sun will rise tomorrow.