Tripping

on the mountain light in mid-fall
but it’s still warm enough even on
misty mornings for shirtsleeves
at least for an hour alone
and at lunch I still sit outside
trying to write a poem
that explains why drummers
and cooks
enjoy cannabis so much
in part for the way it re-moves from us
the deep metronym of time
we sense at all time
as a friend or as a panther
stalking us as we lead
whatever it is we lead from the rear
Listening to Ram Dass
describe his progress through
India
From Dr. Albert in the LandRover full of pharmaceuticals
to nobody
to the son remembering his mother the night before
meeting his guru
who lives on two glasses of milk a day
generating his own himalayan heat
and who ingested 900 micrograms of LSD
as you and might eat an orange
wondering how much an orange costs
on Kauai these days
as I cross the French Broad and come to
the cliff that lets me know I am halfway home
to a home that is not my home
because my home
is everywhere
the center of an orange
the bounded walnut of infinite space
between all of us
i promise I’ve ingested LSD only once and not
before I wrote this poem
if you can call it that
yet I know I’ve seen you many times
before that one space we met between pages
for that one season of time
and I promise you
i am not a realized being yet
missing you
knowing that all the while
you are everywhere
two.