“Cathedral” August 15, 2000

Make a cathedral of the moonlight. Walk in the meadow barefooted, feel the cool dew bathe toes and heel. Spread arms and twirl basking in silver light, making one’s skin pale, almost like in death. Walls are giant cedar, spiring to God in the heavens. My cathedral touches me. Makes me aware of the Lord in His Magnificence and Grandeur. The windows are clear and blue stained with twilight and the crisp air. The choir is cricket song and rustling leaves, harmony and then quiet of the night before weeping coyotes, howling wolves, crying in my shoes, beating the wind, walking the stone, breaking the ax, can’t cut the tree means no boat, no sailing the seas, no visiting other islands, staying at home. Why can’t I think of anything? Staying at home, staying at home, wasn’t that a song? Saw biography of Bob Dylan ahead of his time, stoned, mind expanded, stoned, my mind needs expanding, but doesn’t that kill brain cells? I need all I can get. Neurons, brain cells, work, work, work, do your job, help me think. Weeping coyotes? I don’t think so. I guess if I were a coyote I’d weep, too. No one wants them around, like blackbirds, big, ugly, nasty things. Shunned and hunted. Would anyone ever want a coyote for a pet?

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