sit silent in the trees
           at the edge of the cliff
           above
the river flowing through the
                           valley

          you could almost put your finger on it
except it seems so timeless,
and the technician with the lab coat and bottles says
rocks are made of windshield wipers and copper
pots and the guy in dungarees with the camel
bruch says that the footprints uncovered on the river's edge were
actually made by a lizard who lives off Central Park
and everyone knows that trees are made of used office furniture.

           sit silent now and you'll
           hear dryads tell jokes
           to the water nymphs - old jokes
the same jokes told on the first day of
                                            creation

          you could almost put your finger on it
but you don't know how. you don't
know how the rocks each moment choose
silence when they are busting to shout for joy
or how the tree rejoices in his station
each moment choosing his special posture
and you don't know how the water flows
down to the sea: choosing action over inaction.

           sit silent in your chair
           and don't move because
           something that shouldn't will
if the will behind the world
                                 flinches