by David Taylor
“There is no separate life.” (Freeman House, Totem Salmon)
The stars don't seem that far away.
reclining in the grass in the backyard,
watching the starlings pass in liquid waves,
the lush wind through the pecans,
Venus shining first over a crescent moon in the west,
want to hold this idea as long as I can.
It isn't a new notion I'm sure,
crossing millennia in the dazzle of upturned eyes,
the cool night air on skin,
bird calls, flecks of light,
even the garden in front of me speaking to that,
the seed of thought and plant not so different.
I forget the way I know things-
never as pieces.
We are all milieu,
as much the medium as the organism,
and each of our senses something else's language.
The light I see speaking in histories older than the earth itself.
Ethics at the Urinal
Gentle reader do not blush,
at this meditation on a flush
For where else should application begin
of philosophy except from our ends?
At one to two gallons per pull,
clean water fills the alabaster pool
and dilutes our waste to gray
that washes crude odor away
Yet too often before we begin,
we flush by mere habit again--
thus lay waste to perfectly clean water
and are profligate when we ought not to.
Thus as your business is at hand,
I ask you to hold your water, young man.
for the value of water, inherent or intrinsic,
should never be thought of as merely anthropocentric.