My song surges through the wires of midnight.

      Channels of feeling pour into empty space

              to disperse where?  Not into cramped spaces

                  which lovers, families, communities carve

                        out for themselves — not my vessels

                               of infinity. Who will receive my passion?

Like playing a saxophone solo to the Grand Canyon,

      from one heart beyond form or fibre

              reaching to the impersonal grandeur,

                   just to be, to be, to be — esse — ntu!

                        davening before the wall of the horizon.

I'm just burning without echo without shadow

      I'm just a burning bush in the desert at dusk

              I'm just the electricity of eyes igniting some spark

                   I'm just the ghost of matter haunting the future.

What is, is not; that dimensionless bubble

      of the moment is the fount of my shining

              forth out and beyond this aching form.

Gently I descend like a brush across the cheek,

      a loving stroke beneath the chin, then a smile.

Ralph Dumain
January 1, 1995

Glosses:

esse: Latin: “to be”
ntu: Swahili: “to be”
davening: Yiddish anglicized: Jewish praying, characterized by bowing rapidly back and forth

©1995, 2000, 2007 Ralph Dumain