Sun 27 Apr, 2008 12:55 pm
Tahquitz Rock, CA
"Sermons in stones, and good in everything."
You were made somehow,
an unglaciated outcrop of white granite
reaching eight-hundred feet
into the abundant emptiness of the sky.
Perhaps it was by some titanic urge
that rose to the skin of the earth,
came to itself in the dark wood beneath you.
Perhaps because some door amid the stars
was opened, letting you out
before the wind blew it shut,
only to be opened again.
Why else would you be here,
buffeted by this pulsing sea of magma,
the source of our mortal substance,
except that you were made?
I am like you, in that something
moves my hands to reach
for the clean, quartzy sand
on the bed of this stream.
Perhaps it is that which once moved aside
the dusty fan palms, agave,
and creosote to reveal you;
whatever now chisels you,
swinging hammers of wind and rain.
And so there is in me some urge
to climb you with these hands,
though I might fall,
though I might fade
like the dusk whose dying breath
blows back the veil of night,
my spirit linked back
to the mystery that must have made you.
October 10, 2002
Re: Beethoven's 9th
Music sometimes brings this same melancholy for me. You captured it well, the way the residue of the music births meaning in other objects.
It is interesting what happens when emotion drives our logical processes, isn't it? Logic is supposed to be logic, but it has its birth somewhere.