A whole afternoon field inside me from one stem of reed.
The messenger comes running toward me, irritated:
Why be so hard to find?
Last night I asked the moon about the Moon, my one question for the visible world, Where is God?
The moon says, I am dust stirred up
when he passed by.
The sun, My face is pale yellow
from just now seeing him.
Water: I slide on my head and face
like a snake, from a spell, he said.
Fire: His lightning,
I want to be that restless.
Wind, why so light?
I would burn if I had a choice.
Earth, quiet and thoughtful?
Inside me I have a garden
and an underground spring.This world hurts my head with its answers,
wine filling my hand, not my glass.
If I could wake completely, I would say without speaking
Why I’m ashamed of using words.