I Enter the Chapel of my Forehead



I enter the chapel of my forehead in prostration
where it is cool and dark

Forehead against smooth boards eyes
closed hands at the sides of my head by my

ears where there’s no sound

Body relaxed hips hinged

At ease and afloat in nowhereness


The Madonna of the Beach
washed upright onto shore

starlight around her head

Whale song so distant it’s unheard by us

but some whales swoon or weep over those faraway
meaningful moans

Tips of peaks underwater where we are now
huddled like a chameleon squid in a grotto

just about to
poke out a pink and greeny-yellow body to

slink along searching for
news and a quick bite

All worlds in full throttle to the
utmost of their potential as New-Agers might say

and yet a pall of gloom over some
shouldering a child’s coffin into a

new graveyard during a too-short
ceasefire soon to unravel

But here in the cool dome of prostration
all’s peaceful and unworldly

The floor doesn’t buckle or break open
Heaven extends from right here into


4/17/12 (from The Match that Begins a Conflagration)

Categories: Poems, Prayer