There is a nothingness that enters the “that it is at all,” and this is not a relative nothing marking a finite process of determinate becoming, for the whole of the process is streaked with the nothingness. God and the Between 250

wars abroad oblivion at home__platinum to ice blue

the pond under bright low clouds__nothingness runs through

it all the satin calms__the great blue’s bony take-

off out of yellowing grass__a small duck’s shiny wake

the pond brims with light__thumbprint of the Unequal

an oily slick of rainbow__great powers under its spell

“Fix on the fixed and we forget the fluid original power . . .” G&B 261

seed time at the pond __ breeze in stiff grass

flicker of brown sparrows__forgotten as I pass

gulls pace pewter mudflats__cloudless sky shines through

border of asters hang on__late bees hang on that blue

splash in the shallows__a flash of emerald duck

upon a sinking brown one__I’ve had my share of luck

and disaster getting here__my country’s kingdom come

flags at half staff bells tolling__I take the way of the poem

The pure trust, the true “yes” lies buried deep in the determinations of finite life. G&B 259

high tide moving out __sparkling wave clouds

knife-headed cormorant__black cut-out implodes

goes the surface dazzle__the pattern set by the moon

bees blues in asters__crickets crystal tune

face of the Ur-yes__fading into sound

wind-rubbed maples sigh__leaves drift in the pond

We misunderstand God’s transcendence beyond the whole if we dualistically oppose it to divine immanence in the finite whole. G&B 259

half-human stench of mudflats__hot clouds late September

through the dark glitter peeps run__ time tells we remember

a different sea returns to the sea__above it all City Hall

sells earth and sky and water__flags snap smartly on the hill

crows feast on waste in silence__how they tell I cannot say

poor T’ao happy when writing__grasshoppers hop in the way