Sparks
The sun is a thousand sparks
of white life fallen loosely upon us;
ah, now
who can talk of knowledge
without first having considered the white sun?
Otter
Now the woman like a juicy apple
was offered to Adam her father
in the union of blood. That night the dapple
wet-backed hairy otter
swam the black creek that wound
sinuously and sensuously from one to the other.
Today, in the yellow light
of our own pee-colored enlightenment
we celebrate that other apple of Eve’s:
the one outside her.
She is holding it in her hand
awkwardly out to us;
time after time she holds it — we always take it,
we swallow it through the bright orifice of our words
to be spewed out
later
like some dark-meaning celebration.
