now the birds speak in secret rhythms

and the trees bark in secret sounds

and the people rush in secret thought

and they push the thoughts into the shape of words

and sometimes someone among us

sticks her head into the 

shiny phosphorus blue vat

of language

and listens, like a skeleton

to the pulsing of life within,

and she tells us

of secret rattling angles

to watch for and to reach into

with strange oceans 

and deafening skies

that can be mapped and measured

only by sounds

and never by meanings

and once we can tell where we are

using the nearest star

as it relates to the ragged water (a map of voices)

then we can plant our feet into the good ground

and go to the rodeo

and answer the plum colored hawk

and sing to the river

in good faith

god presses his mouth around our head

he breaths out

he breathes in

and we are resuscitated in the goofy atmosphere of god

where there are highways and bowling

and tattooed by the sun

a circus

made by the prayer of breathing and living hope

and barbed eyes

where coyotes hang



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and cowboys hammer

posts and branches

to keep us inside

as much as keep someone out



and the prayer that is 

and it is answered with a breathe

gods lips against our own

we breath in

we breath out 

he breaths out

and sigh

alive again



the unexpected 

discovery

of a b-side

of life



(a map of voices)



a warning to others who would come this way

an animal who has seen things

a horn twisted into shapes

understood by strangers

recognized by demons

an invitation in the secret language of trees

sung in wild shapes

by a child