Potrero del Sol

for Muriel Rukeyser

They ask us why we’ve come,

what is your intention?

Drop down

into consciousness’

        mirror,

             mind’s buoyant

                luminous envelope  

rose        petal

                ofrenda 

hot worker’s day sun

        lulled by hummingbird

                        drum.

At the bottom of the well

                is

                love

at the end

        of mirrors,

                healing.

Desire roots all pain

in expectation,

        terrestrial tether

        instead of what

                is

                        honey bees

in dandelion, fountain

        become planter

                        growing such

                tall grass

clover flower’s

        chaining crown

while someone hands me

a paper cup

filled with an offering.

Still the noise,

highways

roar on—

quiet mind chatter,

and social

expectation.

Sometimes an afternoon is mending,

        a step away from them—

human engines

of capitalism,

historic gears

of patriarchy—

here in the park

under the pines

of Potrero del Sol

remembering         slow

honey necessity.

Sometimes a morning spent

        reflecting on architecture

and found music

is mending,

sometimes love is

stronger than hate,

sometimes

love walks away

undiminished,

sometimes love

is         the fabric

and the thread.