There Is Someone Who Knows Poem by Roberto Tejada

There is someone who knows.
In no beginning
was there just one language
nor did the surface gleam

with nineteen hours
of music as in our body-heat
through the head & limbs

the thumb and index finger
to form the ovular OH
of our self-fathering fable

war flail ≈ morning star


The original garden erudite,
lush lawn, & round
of trees
behind the limestone square, night

rain out of paper, under
the lights of the narrow
path up the rose hill.

From a dark corner rising now

to write orange with a knife
over green of the elusive
wall no one is watching