The community a Vision the poet is called to build
from the heart going outward,
a Thread woven throughout its fabric
of what is,
transforming it
from the inside
as snakelike moving along irrepressibly
to become
what must be
if the sense of our belonging
together
—today—
is to cohere,
if true justice of place be done,
even when,
telling it like it is,
someone must take account,
be the mythos maker
the Word
we live by
The Word has come,
it lives through my Song,
a Thread of Gold
in the stream—
Look—
& you will see it flashing
as the waters
around it
against rock
splash & flow—
The Word has come,
here, on The Cruz,
the sign
of an Age
dismembered & dying...
& it’s such a slow death—
but someday,
new named,
new born,
someday will
be—
And so I,
too,
was dismembered
&
died
on
The Cruz,
& was reborn
through Vision,
a new Seed of me
out of
out of her submarine canyon depths,
I planted
in the heart,
in the heart
of The Cruz
where it begins,
this place
birthplace of Vision
where Psyche the Word was born,
where Technos—today's God—
looms
from over the
mountain
to encounter Psyche,
our new Divinity to
be
—we will
witness the confrontation—,
this place
where the Integration of us must happen
here,
in our New Age
The bowl was placed before me,
its rim of
&
In it, the creative mash of surfers & fishermen,
farmers & poets,
of dancers, writers, artists &
musicians, street people & performers,
of entrepreneurs & restaurateurs,
of high-tech geeks, students
& student perennials,
of fringe scientists &
inventors, small & local business owners,
of hemp activists, ecoactivists, feminists, astrologers, psychics,
of Wiccans,
pagans, Buddhists, evangelists, Rastafarians,
of college instructors & UC professors,
of alternative health
practitioners, herbalists & healers,
of meditators,
spiritual teachers, retirees & time-warp children
of the Sixties,
& all folk of conventional ways who make up
community—
I have eaten of it.
1999