BEFORE ANIMALS HAD NAMES

BEFORE ANIMALS HAD NAMES

My name is not my own.

They call me the rainbow tiger

but I am more like the billowing fog

coming in each evening

over the mountain for roll call,

tucking the trees, the grass

the immigrant cattle, horses, tractors,

fences, lights, and the people in for the night.

At an infinite pace like slow inverted oceans,

or the cease-surcease of standing waves,

I am drawn upriver to the canyons like a lover

to the secret folds and valleys where at dawn,

the crests of mountains are floating islands.

Sometimes when the sun is right

you can see my opalescent stripes

as I pace the hidden quarters of the world

in search of my name.

5/31/84? written in Mike Tuggle’s class
In my journal, I have another version transcribed 6/85


Naming myself first version, very different


Lost in memory, 
I wander in the jungle 
like Eve in the garden, 
green tendrils caress my ankles. 
Plumaria, fragrant blossoms  
beneath my heel. 
The essence of honey and lemon, 
sweet frangipani.
Parrot feathers in the air, 
raucous blooms in the jungle.

6/1985

BILLOWING FOG

He named me rainbow tiger 
but I am billowing fog 
that rolls in each evening 
over the mountains 
tucking in the trees, the grass, 
the cows and the horses. 
Tucking in tractors fences, 
lights and people for the night. 
Infinite pace. Like that of slow inverted oceans. 
Cease surcease of standing waves. 
Over the mountains I followed the updrafts 
and the low-pressure fronts 
that draw me up rivers and deep canyons 
to the hidden valleys where I blanket everything.
And in the morning, dark mountains float 
against the shimmering whiteness of my body.
Sometimes the animals are coated with my breath.
When the sun comes out just right 
sometimes when you can see 
my opalescent stripes as I dress the world 

6/1985.