There used to be gods and those gods
had veins in which ran not blood
but a heavenly liquid called ichor.

Before that, there was a god
who doled out favors and rough justice
in ways capricious. This god
created everything by himself
and then watched it from somewhere
beyond the clouds—you could almost
see him there, the toe of his sandal,
the smooth hem of his gown.

There were also gods in leaves,
in lake water, in wind, in the earth's
deep core. And these gods dwelt
also in the deep core of everything
that extends like a rope, like a river,
like a tunnel through existence,
like the core at the center of the rings
of a tree. And now there is the cold
prickly god of nothing. 

Tonight I feel the presence 
of all of these gods as I walk
in the cool September air;
my core runs through me like a road
from my past to my future. I smell
the quiet gods in the oleander,
smell the blood of those gods
whose veins ran with a liquid
that gave name to this scent: a wet
pebbled road after the first rain.
                        

I'm going up today
past the garden fence,
up the tree trunks
past the leaves,
the tips of branches.

I'm going up today
past rooftops,
above foothills,
beyond mountains.

I'm going up today,
through the damp mats
of clouds through
their grayness and white,
through their pulled cotton.

I'm going up today
where there is only blue,
blue everywhere
and only blue all around.

In this great blue world
beyond action, beyond
thought, this is where
I will plant my flag.

Whenever I close my eyes
I will see it up there
waving blue as the vastness
around it, waving its ever-
lasting eternity of blue.
                        

I think of the universe expanding,
imagine a big net sack, like the kind
old ladies use in Russia, that start out
small and grow large to fit

the loaves of bread, cans of fish,
bottles of vodka, juice, and milk—
all the items she can scrounge
on her icy trip home. The universe

expands like the heart expands
to love every child you'll ever have,
to love everything you can love,
even after you're sure you can't possibly
love anything or anyone that much again.

I imagine the universe as a great big sack
growing ever fuller with the souls
of every living thing that has ever existed
in this world.

 I think this is where we're headed
when the Earth tires of us—
we too will join the many souls
in the vast sack of the universe, become part

of the dark matter that moves its mystery
upon existence, bending light, spinning
galaxies, sending the souls of the departed
hurtling into our dreams.