Each day I have been adding
the fractions of my senses
trying to find a least
I probably should have tried
multiplying - some kind of
scale and size of formations;
range and change of wall shadows;
shades and tints of prolific greens,
beyond what I could ever count.
The wind makes the cottonwood
leaves imitate rain or the rapids
my old Snake River cabin,
soothing me to sleep.
Raven, dividing the clear Canyon air
like a goose
looking for a lake or a mate
and later like an old Farmall
tractor having trouble starting.
The cumulative, mingled scents
of wild flowers, herbs, campfires,
foods and spices register sensual
that are mind-expansive.
The reliable presence of Mother Earth
always there to stand on
while we try to discern just
what we stand for...
Meister Eckhart was on to something
he wrote, "Spirit hath no
use for number."
I'm thinking the common denominator
may be our