Stream of Fire

Society of Friends

Seeking a bodily goodness, Friends

bring powdered milk to Meeting, for the poor.

I came for the silent waiting, but someone

intrudes reproach for government's

bodily evil, war, and my body growls for food.

I came for the silence, and for tracing back.

What would be a society of my friends?

Are there among us now exact

words for evils and goods the body

can't measure: plain, pointing, claiming words?

A spotted mongrel that I gave away

gave up old games, ignored new savory foods,

and set herself to focused waiting for

the essential presence, which she did not name

but recognized when I came.

To an assessing eye, there must be much

madness in a society of such friends --

stubbornly awaiting and treasuring the bladed

presence that cuts vision loose from sense,

shaping ourselves to its continuance.

Leading

Like a subtle, elusive dancing

partner, it moves always in the right direction

but, hard to follow,

throws me back on the music

and my own movement, making me learn enough

of both to dance

alone (or to keep at least

to the time) when the faint leading pressure is lost

and while I wait

to detect the touch, and step

the answering step, and resume with a new assumption

of grace the making

of the singular patterned exhilaration

of suspense and answer that dancers create whose moves

make one whole.

Night Laps

It is in everything, in a curtain

blowing in a dark window

as much as in the depth

of sky meeting the water's

depth, stars and I

floating, or swimming, both

suspended in night light

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