Poem at Lux Central

I would say,
'Rocky Moutain Air,'

But in what is only
A whisper

In my shell,
The ghost I know

All too well, in an
Empty cistern

Wailing, 'Here!'
Follow the voices

In the morning,
Veins rush

In fear.
What is this murmur,

Floating high upon the air,
My sister,

I fell,
Naught can be fleshed out again.

Not to be foul,
Or evil,

But this
Old-man came crashing

Into the room like a Fool.
A staggering

Entranced me,
The stage was set impure,

But flesh and bone containing
That ineffable cure,

Once again,
And once more, a pounce in prevention

Against a pound of manure.
Teeth smiling,

Apostatizing,
Cleanly cut the cords--exhausted,

The essence of a secret source,
Out the door,

Through the floor,
Amazed at the ceiling,

Gazing is appropriate,
Tell me what's 'in,'

So I can be
Gorgeous, or ignorant,

Either/or, I'm a ghost,
Lost hope,

Love is this:
Nope, you make it up

From this point.
Arrow--bow,

Upwards the sun,
Take me out of the corral,

Teach me how to grow,
Fire of old,

Mind of gold,
Approaching the deep-end.

And the voices on the wind
Shouting down again,

Willowing window,
Heh?  Tell me where to go,

Tell me where to go,
If you can,

But I
Already know.