Gray Corridor

No land
corridor between lands
primeval egrets denizens
of the still place that
ever silent listens.

Fog stretched thin under gray sky
clings to moist ground
water beads slick on train tracks
which crouch just off the dark road
on which he travels.

Fast-paced the
rumbling yellow cyclops
pierces fog with Morning Star light
slicing the in-between world
whose halves weave together again in haze.

Here he is alive
(in or out of the body)
energy subparticulate
gathers and refreshes by
gray sunlight the dry plants.

Under verdant ponds 

gravity is harnessed
between reeds with thick mud
millions of microscopic springs wound tight
to be released in one moment
if he but knew the one liberating word.

Yet unmoving, unmoved
is the corridor
shadow of a place without location or time
where God enthroned
is encircled by angels not egrets.

--Jeff Henry

Economy

In silence
the word vibrates
in elements -
vertebrae
of blood, bone, stone.
Electric nerve,
primal thought,
recursive force
brought
stellar antiphon.

Frail humans
formed by Word
frame by word:
not merely a procretion.
Story,
essay,
song
conceive
enfleshed kingdoms
locked
in mind and breast,
unlocked
by prayer and coffee.
Our heritage.

From minds
words crawl,
distend,
atrophy.
Vaporous
they gather,
shuffle,
press,
coalesce,
stack,
settle in dust:
journal,
novel,
sermon,
song.

Craft with
sound, noun;
experiment with
grammar.
Undefined, unrefined
casts of life arise
as verbal golems,
homunculi
from clay of imagination.

Still, listen.
Brood silent.
One word an aurora.
One word a vested hope.
Recursive the thought
that is offered with economy.
You speak with tongues of angels,
the poem shimmers with 

the causal word 

that the temple builds.

--Jeff Henry