i woke without
the crowd, before
the crows called
each other to rise
later i would observe
the pattern of flight,
now,still night, i must
see into my guts
i who is the diviner
of my life and yours,
my task to foretell
the impulse of presence
the movement of arrows
and where time will flow,
i will bind a scarf
over my eyes
and speak in tongues.
what i see should
not be understood,
listening will create
meaning from intonation
not from grammar nor words.
let there be silence
before the sun will reach
the branches of trees
in the wild fruit gardens.
there is too much
we carry, conversation
means to turn words
and hints together
into different contexts
and increase confusion
for the purpose of
common entertainment
which will leave us alone
without being aware
of what we do, talking
like fishes making bubbles,
fencing perception and
our souls: laughter
and kisses are songs
without words, the music
for diviners and poets, a
power more than swords
and the morning work
in the garden is peace,
is harmony with future
in the presence of sweat
give me a hoe and seeds,
silence the foreteller
with work, soup , bread-
see: we are not yet dead.
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