she said (the voice of the owl)

(February 2022. Camped by the Colorado River, inspired by a conversation with my friend Julie about ayahuasca and poetry and my lower voice that I can access if I breathe deeper.)

she said
i like when you speak that voice
the one you were talking about
the deeper voice—

i remembered
the voice the medicine
cleared open,
my heartvoice, masculine,
unafraid, unabused,
in no rush, proud, worthy
of space and time, always.

grandma aya said
speak child
from the center of breath
from the throat of your heart….
release…. oooooooohhhhh….
looooowwwer…. aaaaaaahhhh…
caaaaalmerrr….
goooooooood….—

she remembered the story,
she had listened to me
i don’t know what i had said
but she was listening
and remembering
and connecting

and i said
as clear as i could
thank you
for seeing me
thank you
for reflecting me
thank you
for this vision of myself

the new moon has been touched—
a gracing light
sliver of gold
and shadow rounding

the colorado flows south
the wind blows where it will

i told her about the poem
emily wrote on my back left bus wall,
the panel of purple and leaving home
and sunsets, moonlight and memories

emily said
each that we lose takes part of us;
a crescent still abides,
which like the moon, some turbid night,
is summoned by the tides

she said
when you read poetry
you use that voice

and i said i said it with the weight
of the pride emily deserves.

she said well i like it
it feels at ease, centered,
it makes me feel better too,
like a weight floating breath

and suddenly i was free;
her breath unburdened me

i realized so much
in that dazzling flash of
myself in another’s eyes.

anxiety is contagious and
calm is contagious.

i do not need to rush
to share more of myself
assuming i am unwanted,
speaking on borrowed time
like a beggar who needs
to get what i can and run.

i am free to breathe,
and speak slowly,
as if my words matter
and people will listen if they like.

taking care of myself is good
for everyone i touch, too.

to love myself is to love everyone.

that glare was enough to see
a whole by.

when i speak poetry at my best
i am not just speaking from myself—
i am speaking from all poetry.
i am speaking a conglomerate
of many great tongues
carrying the weight of all language,
and the more centered i am,
the more centrally i can channel
the tradition through a body.

i have a deeper voice,
and it has something to do
with the voice of the owl
i am merged with.

the voice of the owl may be
the voice of democracy after dark,
the observer of the sunset land and
carrier through the night’s dawn
of what we should have learned.

i would like to practice
the voice of the owl
so that i may share it.

the owl of minerva flies at dusk
and if this century be dusky
with the smoke of wildfires
and the fast burning
of a collapsing oil empire
and men who care not for truth…

i know that ages can be dark
but the light of the owl will not be lost
so help me god.

i will do everything with my power
to speak precious scrolls
wherever they are needed,
wherever they are forbidden.

as long as the light stays alive,
i know it will grow again.

the wind is blowing south
pushing the colorado
to the destiny it deserves.

the crescent is descending
with a planet into the dusty horizon
beyond the colorado,
reddening.

how wondrous it is to be
reflected—

to be in a new perspective,
a new color and shape
that fits.

as we danced separately,
before we met, the stars watched—

the stars look us right in the eyes.

thank you for this vision.