God created a mind with body
To touch the inwardness of us.
Our doubts fluttered like a bird
Just out of the nest& breathing
A Whitman’s song upon our lip
In borrowed language of mind.
Yet we stick to ancient dogmas
That had us scaling Shiva’s hill
A snow hill of an endless night
While a poison of doubt spread
In the bluest of throat, keeping
A world awake by kitschy song
And the sounds of a faint light
Over houses of burning thatch
As bodies stayed all of a piece
And it was Shiva’s night awake.