Among the Reeds

In thinking about the spirit,
one must move beyond the water,
must step out of the daily eddies
and move toward the reeds
at the water's edge. Somewhere,
beyond the third or fourth clump
of reeds, is what gives us life,

huddled, clumped to itself
to the reeds
to everywhichthing
in way that could only
be traced if you noted
this part in every whole.

So what's lurking there
for you? My spirit guide has crystalline
eyes, is stunted by too much sun,
and stands still enough to trick
the water skimmers into thinking
he doesn't exist

as if spirit were a ghost,
an inconvenient phantom,
a gimmick from a sitcom
that played out while the writers
tried desperately to think
of "real ideas."

But watch the reeds flutter
from nothing you can grab,
see the skimmers curve and jive
without cause and you will know
my spirit's there, breathe
easily into everything that moves.