A bad day for creeds;
a bad day for stares;
a bad day for blind
obedience to blundering

oracles, as Henry put
it long ago. A bad day
for obedience. A bad
day for “act like us.”

Why not, Ralph asked,
long ago, why not
behold god and nature
face to face with our
own eyes, weaving

our own tales? Long
ago Henry and Ralph
said stop listening
to long ago. So, do

we have a poetry of
insight, a philosophy
without tradition now,
a religion of revelation,

to us, not the masters
inscribing themselves on

ages, not the moldy books?
not the stares of the old,
powerful “it’s always been”?

A bad day for moldy books;
a bad day for fistfuls of musts.

A good day to speak
of Henry and Ralph
erasing themselves

into revelation, to
you, on and on, a good
day to write ourselves.