May 1

There are many paths – muchas veredas por la veritas, Murrieta followed the water. Mendota Pool is below me, where the fishes dance and the ridge above me circles back to the east and my jaw drops like a gaping yawn for I am stunned by the beauty. The constant hum of the tires on the road with a flick of my wrist I go round the pointy rocks and the edge of the passing trees vibrate resting on a lone pine silhouetted in the laminating sun.
I hear the song like a memory of Peter Gabriel in your eyes
‘I am complete.
In your eyes’
I am Joaquin
I flick the light the heat and the pointy rocks on the road
and ‘wake up from the inside’
The immeasurable breath, the dialectics of alchemy, and the polar fusion of carbons reducing matter to its essence, is everywhere one and the same
I am losing myself as I get closer to where I will find the answer, or maybe one, that would be enough. First, I am going down to the pool, and look to see if I can spy on a goddess bathing with the goldfish and not get chased by the hounds.