enjabment at work

Meditating on nowhere and blown out like a flame
my yoga body moves into a single pointed place where
I focus on a precious brandished-skin groom
in white breeches and a red riding cap and
a prophetic anchor who never saw his visions
and his listeners who gobbled
all the scraps of sideways wisdom he heaved at them and
finally a Sufi who exclaimed he was the Truth and that his face was my face
and spun in circles
circling around twinkling carousels, I told them
I'd give them everything if they would just given me a minute
when my hair was corn-colored,
I moved toward them blue-shifted (like a smile
rejoicing in our hands) mouth-watering fantasy remains--
me crouched in their lap, blowing cigar smoke in their mouths,
exhaust tastes warm like home, rolls off the tongue like Hebrew or Greek
however all of us could ride well oiled lanterns regardless
of what language we spoke
or we'd shine the light, late at dusk together for weary caravans;
'wake up,' we say 'its time to rise,' cellos bellow from
below our stomachs humble us gnawing on bones of stones we
find our simple recipes for soups made with fish and tall grasses
of which I wove pots and spoons made of bamboo until
we feasted and sent invitations to nations of paper birds
on rice stationary and little origami children took our fingertips and we were
down the rolling mountains where we found plantations of peasants with golden skin
harvesting paragraphs of verbs and cultivating stories from their tea, we buried their wishes
so that I transformed into an archaeologist, or like a cow without skin
I uncovered all of my attachments to worldly adjectives in the end.