Spinning Stillness

As I clutch the ground, crouching, my heel planted in, I picture

The yellow house behind the gulch of green

Dust pouring into its gateless pillars.

Looking ahead, my palm wakes the ancient, wooden floor

Through the porch, up the wide, red steps, the magnificent trees, eucalyptuses softly stirring behind

Cracks in the floor, jagged lines along the walls shout:

The house is sinking, face first. Or will it crumble first?



An unfelt reflex pivots my shoulders, pelvis. Is that me?

Or where am I? The threadbare carpet and the arching end of the room, lined with

Windows, whose screens we’d busted with hockey sticks, fill the moment.



I summon the mango tree to arrive, as my palm sweats slightly. Do it,

Before you slip and dislocated bones are given to your body’s memory!

But the moment lingers and the bookshelf of opaque wisdom, with its cracked glass door,

Draws near. I will be forever in its orbit. Hanging over me will be

The deck of fortune cards where magical, wistful knights and small-lipped maidens with their tunics open (revealing bosoms like budding pomegranates)

Are watched over by a timeless old man. Hafiz drinks from his cup.

While the boy blushes.



Execution. Balanced in the pelvis, head tucked under, my heels propel me

Into a spin. The symmetry conserves just one point. And bristling with indices

And Greek letters are equations that bring us to

The Pillars of Creation.



But that is Since, in the Before, a soft, sweet-smelling, sturdy branch

Is there to be grabbed with both hands. And doing a monkey flip

Into the tree’s canopy, a branch gently pokes my cheek.

Naughty boy, to get any sour little mangoes you couldn’t possibly get up there

With the flitting parrots.



Back on my feet. Is this my stance? Or am I on an iceberg

Of contentment, mighty and well guarded,

Easy love, on the asking?

Oh, but loosen your feet, swing on that palm, pivot, rotate!

The flavor of the moment

Is in that point within you

That you can’t think of.