Start From the Depths of the Dark

midsummer is death
the gray something is dying
but i’m not sure
so i grab the steering wheel
as fast as a hawk rushing forward
as far as i can’t see —

San Francisco
my imagination flashes
barefoot
i pace back and forth
along the road where they are
those ecstatic histories
a time of shattered light
from a cloud above the Golden Gate Bridge

it shines down on me
i see Ginsberg napping by the roadside
Jack Kerouac like a lonely angel
head down
reading drifting haiku

in the night, my midsummer no longer grows
inside the day-after-day machine
slamming like a truck

summer dies now
only when the river runs dry
can we see the a white stone within

only when life dies
can we begin to discover the path to God