Scrawny stems, dark green narrow oval leaves about a finger's length,
little yellow flower cups on top.
Two hand length squiggly gray lizards, black stripes down their backs,
deep blue iridescent tails as long as half their bodies,
fucking in the stony dirt.
In the dome of my head bone is the sky, light blue, sun directly above.
Every few minutes a cloud assembles itself from nowhere, undulating,
then disappears back into the clear sky.
In the middle distance of my head bone, blue jays invent insults.
Hawks, black and tan, dove gray or dull gold sunlight through their wing tips.
Suddenly a hummingbird. Are my glittering eyeballs nectar? She flutters behind my eardrums.
Pines, redwoods, acacias, bays. A few burnt out trunks, reminders of a recent fire.
Some are so fragile they break in a strong wind;
the top half falls – one end on the ground, the other leaning on the standing trunk.
More of these frail trees keep growing.
In the far recesses, ocean or freeway? Too faint to tell for sure.
Amid all this, my attention is on you, Root Guru,
visualized suspended before me,
just one more head in your garland of skulls.
(Thanks Marc Olmsted)