THOUGH I DO NOT BELIEVE

Though I do not believe
And a few bells tolling
In God the Father
In God the Father's Son
Nor that Other Emissary
Spooky as milkweed down
And do not expect
To be lifted up
From the floor of being
Any further than
A mouse is
I am not afraid
I am not afraid
To be dust
Gentle and brown
Gentle and brown
At the root of things
Lilies and wheat
Lilies and wheat
Onions that grow
Into the fire
Of Mans hot tongue
Sharply speaking
Words of the angels
Whose glittering scales
String the field
In mirrors of mica
To the rim of the river
Where the dusty earth
Was once exclaimed
From my timorous soul
I am not afraid
I am not afraid
Hear my declaration
Here by the animal run
Where the walk is exquisite
The dance is exquisite
The skip is exquisite
The leap is exquisite
Down to the water
Murmuring by
The red clay road
Rut deep in river
I am not afraid
To mix my dust
With the dust of these
With the dust of these other
Sleek lovely ones
Whose mire I cannot
Reasonably exceed
And all transfused
Into the dust
Gentle and brown
Gentle and brown
At the root of things
The glaze of lilies
The gloze of wheat
The fire of onions
Speaking sharply
The words of angels
On a man's hot tongue
In which I do not either
Much believe
Though wings are singing
Above the river
Running crystal
Shoaling white
Increasing blue
But for which I thank Thee
For understood reasons
Thou It of Things
So variously named
So curiously called
God the Father
God the Father's Son
God the Father's Other Emissary
Spooky as milkweed down
As a dandelion’s uneasy head
Exploded by pouting lips
On the mystery of wind