by S. Ray, May 2003
Reprinted by permission of the Kern Valley Transients’ Entity

Never having seen a lotus blossom, a cactus flower does well in its place,
and wishing I was made of cactus flowers is nice for a few minutes.
And I saw a sticker of a lotus flower, so I put it on my car, and I say
that that is just as good as a sticker of a shooting star.

Never having been to Vienna, a stone on the side of a stream is fine. I
wish I was in Vienna sometimes, but I know I would rather be made of
cactus flowers. I have a friend from Vienna, and she has ridden in my car, and
that is probably just as good as being in Vienna, riding a shooting star.

My veins course pineapple juice and blood lemonade, petroleum high
grade, my mind knows words forever undefined, definitions forever unworded, and
wonders who you are. If I were I spider in a jar, I would still
wonder who you are. If you were the spider, I’d know.

In January, there’s usually snow, and under it a layer of earth. I
put my hand on the soil in the high sierra and wonder how the earth can be so
continuous, how there can be no rest, no stopping, just one thing
after an other, a long train of events that seem individual but really are tied tight.

By May, my eyes say, there is less snow. And more water in the
streams, and more chocolate vapor than wicked steam. In a field a grapefruit
I peeled and a crescent moon above I adored. All the boats I’ve ever ridden
so far have made it to shore. So far to shore I have ridden many boats.*

By a stream, as if in a dream, a pink light ray my way did beam. A
cactus flower, rich in power, did in all directions tower. I said, “hello,
you I do not know, but your kin are all over this continuous continent.” And I
sat a while beside it.

*This sounds like such a lie, but not all boats are ocean going, so it’s technically really true.