[Poem] The Lion's Bones

2009-05-28 @ 3:59 a.m.

I want to touch the bones of the Lion.

Past mane, past fur,
past whiskers,
teeth,
eyes,
past tail and claws:
the very bones of the Lion.

Humans like to shape those bones.
We give them names, functions, colors,
locations and style --

but, veiled by flesh and pelt,
the bones
of the living Lion will ever be
a mystery to us.

How can we know
truly, fully, deeply know,
whether we have the truth?
The only bones we touch
are the bones of dead creature.

I will never know the bones of the Lion.
If I try, I will die by tooth, by claw --
by the enormity, the immensity of the Beyondness of a foolhardy,
all-too-human search of desperation.

If I do not die,
in discovering, touching, knowing those bones,
the mystery will be torn,
and the Lion Himself
will
die.