Now the birds speak in secret rhythms
   and the trees bark in secret sounds
   and the people speak in secret thought
   and they push the thoughts into the shape of words
   and sometimes someone among us
   sticks her head into the
   shiny phosphorus blue vat
   of language
   and listens, like a skeleton
   to the pulsing of life within,
   and she tells us
   of secret rattling angles
   to watch for and to reach into
   with strange oceans
   and deafening skies
   that can be mapped and measured
   only by sounds
   and never by meanings
   and once we can tell where we are
   using the nearest star
   as it relates to the ragged water
   then we can plant our feet into the good ground
   and go to the rodeo
   and answer the plum-colored hawk
   and sing to the river
   in good faith
   god presses his mouth
   around our head
   he breathes out
   he breathes in
   and we are resuscitated in the goofy
   atmosphere of god
   where there are highways and bowling
   and tattooed by the sun
   a circus
   made by the prayer of breathing
   and living hope
   and barbed eyes
   where coyotes hang
   and cowboys hammer
   posts and branches
   to keep us inside
   as much as keep someone out
  
   and the prayer that is
   and it is answered with a breath
   gods lips against our own
   we breathe in
   we breathe out
   he breathes out
   and sigh
   alive again
  
   the unexpected
   discovery
   of a b-side
   of life
  
   a map of voices
   a warning to others who would come this way
   an animal who has seen things
   a horn twisted into shapes
   understood by strangers
   recognized by demons
   an invitation in
   the secret language of trees
   sung in wild shapes
   by a child