I’ve just seen inside a crystal.

You appeared to me as an old man, clear
as television. Teach me, I said.

Then chaos then cloudy. Then

the Santa Ana winds contained. Unburden
us, I said. The windchime swayed

with telenova rank & file, a blur

in the crag. You’ll already know what
appeared before us in that spectral cloud

The staged & unstaged

soul singers before your comeback, the lit
& unlit blues singers before you, then

the chain & the field, then fire.

The ankle-belled psychic said
this is his celebration then a chorus

of cottonwoods sang

the songs my mother sang as she
drove with a hand on my knee, the chants

of my teachers & the sound of bread

rising & the ankle-belled psychic
said this is for your hunger.