Something New Under The Sun

There are no true words for nature.
All us children of Adam Earthson and Eve of the Free Will,
we can’t really describe it--
our first task when we arose, and we’re not even close.
Rain, land, wind; monsoon, continent, hurricane:
syllable symbols obscurely exemplifying something
too elemental to entrap in shallow sounds
or hollow scrawls.

Primal, you came to me,
unnamable yet named unshakably,
element of the Elements with storm-blue eyes,
paragon of paradoxy,
luminous with lucidity,
coriolis-crowned in simplicity’s mystery,
sacramental silver strong,
making your windward way through the unbound world,

You

wash over me (slate breakers and seafoam)
whirl me down (breath of the planet as it spins)
scorch me (white spark of creation)
jolt me (granite cracked in passing worldshock)
cause me joy (feral happiness, so real it hurts)

and I still can’t name your essence.
Breathless, gasping, I am
whelmed-- over, under, all directions--
wonder-filled and fierce with revelation
of
with
for
by

you.

Is this the First Feeling?
Is this what First Man and First Woman felt
looking at the hot, new world
with tender, laughing eyes:
every thing a present in its freshness
a challenge in its selfness
awaiting with eternal patience
a name
that may yet never come,
a name
to replace all the murky mutterings and markings
when we mean what really is.

No five letters ever
could bind up everything that’s you,
no more than any five fingers
could ever take and hold you back
from walking your wild way through the wild woods.
You are
who you are.
I know it.
Even if I cannot name it.