No wonder the words
were so dramatic,
all that smiting and rivening
and splitting asunder,
all those elephant gods
and serpents with wings
and voices inside fires or clouds or mountains.
Now we make bright magic on our screens,
we see the billowing gladnesses
at our fingertips
and turn down the thunder.
Now we need different words
to nudge us,
images that lure us away
from the flash
to breathe in one real dew,
or actually notice
how three snowflakes are different
from each other
and from the mitten.
We need words
that help us find the space between them,
the sound of a bloodstream
with as much or more intense beauty
and complex function
as the system on Olympus.
Athena, Shiva,
Thor and Yahweh
pulse magnificently
as they did before,
beckoning or beseeching,
inviting or commanding
our immersion.
The river is the same eternal one,
the riverbank still awaits,
the sound is still trickling or tumultuous.
The access points
are everywhere.