Sunday, July 6, 2014

Under my skull roof

A believer and nonbeliever 
go about their days with rarely a quarrel.
One stands very still to hear the great spirit speak 
in the Mourning Dove coos and the salt winds 
and in the bob cat hiss. 
The other of the metropolis, of devices and data, 
concrete, car horns, and microwave peeps.
They meet hour by hour in my body, 
unable to speak a common language 
but aware of one other--
not friends, not enemies--each busy 
with itself,  its point of view. 
Neither comprehends a purpose, 
though one can sense a great direction,
while the other sees such thoughts as
just thoughts--axons addressing dendrites--

nature talking to itself.