Rock, Water, Moon, Jupiter, Sun

When I write, I feel it in the chest, near the beating of my heart.
It sounds trite, but it's true.
There are reasons for these descriptions.
I'm not the first to make it up.

And then it all comes out like this:
Rock, Water, Moon, Jupiter, Sun,
These other things that I use as metaphors
For the drumming in my chest.

Sometimes, it gets out of hand,
And before I know it, I'm a metaphor, too,
A chunk of stardust, a drop of water,
A spear of summer grass.

Not a man, with will or intention,
But a cluster of atoms moved by gravity
And other forces I cannot comprehend,
Invisible, outside the mind, and within.

But the beating keeps beating,
So I drum my fingers on these keys,
And repeat:
Rock, Water, Moon, Jupiter, Sun.

Soon, I'm held eternally in the cosmic melodrama,
Orbiting the Sun, billions of years old,
And I conjure eternity between heartbeats,
Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump . . .

I am no longer a man,
I am a rock upon which eternity is built,
The Kingdom of Heaven,
The hands and feet of Christ eterne,

I see water flow in a river and I say:
"That is me!"
I see the stars sprinkling the sky with light and declare,
"That is me, too!"

My capillaries fill with blood,
Pulsing near the surface of my skin,
I grow larger with every thrust
Of this aching muscle that torments me.

Live, live, live, live!
The rivers of blood do not end,
And my diaphragm plays accomplice with wind
As my brain testifies:

You are Rock, Water, Moon, Jupiter, Sun.
You are eternal.
You are life and death.
You do not die nor live.

The beating continues:
I am a drum, an empty shell,
A tent scaffolded over bones,
Hollow and empty.

Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump . . .

Come, beat on my skin,

I invite you into my emptiness,
To dwell with Rock, Water, Moon, Jupiter, Sun.

We are the same, us.
We are rock.

We are water.
We are empty shells.

Let's keep each other company, then,

Beating on each other like drums,

Thinking of blood and wind,
Mouths and tongues.

These thoughts turn quickly,
And we are in bed, not sleeping. 

But beating, beating, beating, beating,
In eternal moments of bliss.

. . .

If these lines seduce you, tread lightly,

There are no hollow drums.
I am less these things than a man with words,

Like rock, water, moon, jupiter, sun.