wheels

the wheel brings me here:

blue sky green earth hues.
i think of 'spirituality'
there isn't separation anymore.
this word has become extinct
through all that has died and been reborn in me
i mean that in the simplest of ways.
i don't mean it in a buddhist or christian or shamanic way
i mean in it the way that
the tall summer grass speaks
with a grasshopper symphony
amidst the poem of chocolate brown mullein stalks.

it is the last year's yucca fruits opened and dried like stars.
while this year's yucca fruits ripen.
it's the memory of the sharp prick
that holds a yellowing cactus flower.
it lurks in the cautioning poison ivy
i hear her speak long before i see her
it's a simple red stone
a prairie meets high desert song
and a mountain i'd like to climb.
but it is more than this and less:
it's the street and the hot steaming asphalt.
and me driving down the wrong side of a road.
it's that guy i once judged
and the kids i forget to fully see.

it's a pain in my belly
rising to the occasion.
sharp and full, pregnant and forgotten, birthing and beginning.