Blue Ladder (9 a.m.)    

Profusion as a way to
          climb down into the flowers.
                    Only the tree stands its ground
                    in the background stones line
          the dreamed-of path
dis/closed to me
          while my eye confuses itself
                    with blooming. This is the third hour of the morning
                    where we breathe our way up
          into an apex of light.
Blue celestial ladder
          overgrown with plants marks the place
                    inside the day where we may enter
                    the primordial tree. Sleepy transiting
          between levels. If Jacob's ladder led to angels going up
and coming down while he slept on a stone
          the missing rungs to this song
                    thrust me back into this world.
                    No one moves between messenger
          and the next prayer.
Inside this hour I awaken
          to a wingéd transparency
                    struggling up
                    inside the tree's bole
          passion leaves bursting through the rungs.
And the fruit is always invisible to the root.