Morning Walk

When I go

it is grey outside.

Shadows still merge with their source.

Music is beat back into grasses and trees.

I walk, barely.

Life has made a bruise of me.

Thoughts combine in random fragments.

And my planet, an everywhere invisibility,

begins turning.

Words do it,

whatever they attach to.

Turbulence is put in motion,

some momentous change cloaked

beneath the horizon.

Short mumbled prayers,

half confession, half complaint,

palpate the open nerve of my source.

It is misery and deep pleasure

to be found out like this.

In order to be washed

you must disrobe.

The grey opens its doors

a crack. Was it only the stone

of a castle with a carnival inside?

Is my weariness a form of hunger

that turns from corn on the stalk,

saying "I can't eat husks"?

The decisive moment comes.

It always comes, is always the same,

and yet always I forget to expect it. What?

A blurred pair of meanings from the old world,

wisdom known to both Hebrews and Greeks:

faith and faithfulness are the same.

That is all. That is all!

Only take a walk early in the morning,

witness the heat, gravity, and light of our star

resurrect the world all over again, and remember

what the fusion of invisible particles can do.