There is something to say here, and I wish
That I, delusion of self, could hear it
And repeat it, so that you, delusion of other,
Could hear me and repeat it. My head inclines
From a rocky perch to listen to the water.
The tiny stream runs under the trunk of the giant
Ponderosa, suspended by its spread roots
Like a gymnast or a circus acrobat, over the fall.
I have, I am, I inhabit a brain as sculpted as that
Stream and those roots but not cut out to make
Coincidental noises. To listen for meaning in them.
I incline. I am inclined to hear you, delusion,
Answering me, soothing me, the conspecific
Voice of a god, a ghost, a fairy sprite, although
You are water being pulled down, not speaking
So much as a word to me. I will understand you
Only when I’m done with dreams and with dreaming
Messages might be passing either through me or you.
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