For me the province of poetry is a private ecstasy made public, and the social role of the poet is to display moments of shared universal epiphanies capable of healing our sense of mortal estrangement—from ourselves, from each other, from our source, from our destiny, from The Divine.




Light everywhere moves with an anonymous precision
over smooth terrain or rough-hewn scabrous dilapidation
up stainless steel smoother than glass or through
sick teeth of alligatorish quadrupeds or millipedes
proceeding not with caution but full speed ahead
going at its own sudden rate faster than most everything
spread like God’s lightning fingers wherever they may point
unjudging and unjudgmental though throwing light in all
seemingly inaccessible cracks and corners
leaving no stone shadowed in its path
from this visible pen-scratch to across the entire galaxy
this selfsame light (though right

now as it’s night I’m writing by electric light)

flotillas of ignitious angels even they bathed in its endless icy
silvery glow
penetrating far into the dark

and all our own faces show up in it changing expressions either
good or ill though we usually put our
best faces forward in full-lit lineup or in
low-lit romantic bistro

as little actual star flashes float in the air to some soft electric
organ music

He is Light Light of all the heavens and earths and He said
“Let there be Light” as if there had
been none before though planets like dolphins
leap through its rippling waves as they

lovingly pursue it

Light like the ocean of our hearts our most natural
aqueous element in which waves of light are our most
nutritious moisture

God’s flags that unfurl past the
endlessness of the end from before the
beginning of the beginning

where we can only wave goodbye to
everything we ever knew or will know

yet even here find ourselves
bathed from head to toe

in Light

3/9/2004 (from Mars & Beyond)

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