To every one I tried to eat, I’m sorry

I have chased mountains
and quiet men, wolf women
and booky teachers:
Help me!

I’ve been every mother,
frowned
and stomped for silence
hoping it would
point.

Even so,
my throat’s
been
so thin nothing
could pass, my abdomen
immense
globe of hunger stretched
around boundless
ache.

Wandering ghost belly

No woodsy cabin or bear man
fed. No singing or dying
woman,
witch or nun could satisfy
with wands or words
or all the grief
I could eat.
I had it wrong.

Only when in uncalled dream
I found one hovering just above
no within
no as
(me) unadorned,
clear as ringing
goblet
casting
prism mandorlas
did lost paths merge.

My belly turned inside
outward,
swallowed me
along with the spinning
world
and everything
was perfect, of one
taste.

It fades, this flexibility.

Sometimes I walk
around allowing all
passage,
my human throat and belly
a ruse for the fact
that the path to this
much space was
never any
where or who
but here.

2011

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