Wash Me Still
Latent swinging singing blood
within the clay heart I tell you
it moves past moons
or ring of thumbs believe me.
You do not nor I do yet
the lazy swing of open boughs
planting seeds in desert soil
man and God together toil
and grass is plagiarizing moss
the jasper wisdom of the stone
and see the turn of eyelids on
the early bleating in the Pass
the grasp of corn
the speed of roots
clamouring I for tides like sea
to wash me still and set me free.