There was something he forgot -
Or maybe never knew,
If only he could recall.

Where thoughts should chase
Pell mell race
Ticking straw clustered instead.

Wings sprung large against the backdrop of looming mountains
Gravity is on a long vacation
Moon’s heat blistering at night
The Sun cannot control his shiver
Rivers cannot contain all their milk
Sipping brine from crystal glasses
Gardens blooming among snow with hardness of iron

Born of a wheat field held fallow
Grass overtaking future bread,
Never known a mother’s bosom,
Or a father’s hard hand, he was
Crucified for the sake of crop rotation, then
Dressed in the hand-me-downs of the dead.

Is it worse to know that you are crazed, for if you know
Does it make you sane, or at most, blessed by blind faith?

Thoughtless is not the same as stupid.

Every word carries its own despair,
When amnesia and wonder
Fade the lines and edges, go forth
Into the wet colors of the wind.

He knows
At the foot of Persia’s Zagros Mountains,
Exists a single text in three languages
A Rosetta Stone of Cuneiform

He knows
Mystical tenses of Latin verbs, he knows
Cupidities, malice, machinations
And willingness to deceive
He knows zygotes to both flora and fauna.

Yet he knows nothing
Except joy
In walking free.