The Roots of Forks



i   the garden

    blued steel tinges
    a convergence		   of beginnings
				 	   here possibilities flow in a torrent

    and verge		into
				     liquid movement

    tines cascade from the handle
				     quicksilver steel		sheathes

    a waterfall
	its expanse of electrons
	occlude		    my fingers and pen
				    the bones in my spine
	and span the hearts of stars



ii  seeming the source

    the handle splits into tines			that attenuate
								        and attune

	    my hairs and nipples stand on end
	    and reach	    up
			  	    and out

							toward the stars

	    i pierce their depth at the nape of my neck
	    my eyes close
	    and trace	    slow arcs
		
				    breathing shallow
					    then deep

					    i hold	 			the moment
										and the fires of the sun

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