I run through my obsessions
Like penitents over wooden beads
Chanting the same words
Until all obliterates beneath
The mortar and pestle of language
How can I trust others
When I cannot trust myself
So many layers of belief
(all true) to move through
like archeologists through
sedimentary rock
What was once seafloor
Shows sea life on mountaintops
There is always an explanation
If I sift through enough silt
Finger each thickened lump
Until it dissolves in my hands
I might glean some truth
Upon which to layer like an oyster
A balm upon all that irritates me
(April 2011)
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