From Out of the Void
And God said, Let there be… stuff.
Three words, and God being God the Father,
and not the coach of a soccer team,
who might have to repeat himself,
really got something started.
Thing is, God knew more than a thing,
or two, and bid it all come forth self-creating.
And, God being Creator-in-Charge of stuff,
there’s just no end to things
you can see from a kayak, or at the mall.
The ten thousand things in the Tao,
that’s, like, way not enough.
How many things?
The lesser god of Google reveals
some science guy counting
all the knowable stuff—hot dogs
and doughnuts, turtles, black holes,
toe nails, eye wash and Camaros, and
all manner of things, is, well,
a big number light years past a trillion.
Call it ten to the power of a hundred eighty-three.
One sexagintillion knowable things.
I don’t even want to ask
about unknowable things little dogs know.
So let there be life creating life,
and somebody making chocolate cake.
And that let-there-be creative energy that goes
and goes and goes, just keeps on going,
like it won’t ever stop, goes by one name:
Beneath It All
Live oak that squats the land
bold and beknighted beneath
its broad reach of low branches
pushed out like the conjuring arms of a sorcerer,
upturned toward the light in the sky.
Broad-shouldered in storms
with names and winds that declare
war on the lesser orders,
they are fastened to the earth,
kneeling, gripped into place
by a spell of woven roots.
Muscled roots that stretch outward
by four, five, six, and seven times
the blatant overhead canopy.
Fingers that knuckle out in all directions
only a measure of inches deep
in the forever dark and secret soil
where the sun cannot shine
on the life holed-up and hanging on down there.