Harvesting the past
Examining every chunk
Swallowing mudstone after mudstone
That compete to be the first
To weigh down a hungry belly
But they hold no threat
For a belly on fire
1300 degrees fahrenheit
And RISING

I have closed my eyes
And gulped LIFE down whole
Heads, tails
And all the innards
So you are in my wilderness now
~ Juicy red cell upon cell ~
All containing history, geography, chemistry, language
And story

But we are all more than our stories
Aren't we
So much more
This is just the beginning

Come.

Low tide exposes
marine terraces and tidepools.
Slim brown bodies
cluster together
near the edge of the pitted mudstone.

One kneels to get a closer look
absorbed in the detail of a sea star
an anemone.

One is hesitant, afraid of the water
a wave, the slippery algae covered rocks.

One only wants to be seen, posed
hip out, knee bent, chin up
with practiced casualness.

The robed and turbaned guides lead us
Station to pillar to post
Here the last puddle of sacred blood outlined in platinum,
There the stray knotted whipstroke picked out on the
Mudstone wall in jasper and rarest peridotites
- Change yer shoes for the final hill to the death sanctum,
Last sonatina set to begin, with eye max.
But, but here monsignor, what’s this minor
Scatter of comic beaks ‘n bones off to the side in shadow,
This fouled corner irrigated by ninety-nine generations of
Three faiths and their pets?

- Pay no ear, it’s got no voice or at most
The scalded steamkettle hiss of a dying gull,
Was never no human language
Nor saw anything really seen
And those what claim to have dug up gored pieces of value
From under there just kissed the *** of madness.