Small Potatoes Moon

channeling Joseph Beuys, the German conceptual artist who once said,

“The act of peeling a potato can be a work of art if it is a conscious act.”

Any small part of the world

can sometimes enter as music

into a tender suchness

that belies explanation—

yesterday it was vanishing whitecaps

during a break in the marine layer

a murmuration of temporary dissonances

which formed a perfect circle

of water on the sky’s soul.

The sense that

yes, death

is in every step

& peace is the gravity

urging us earthward—

that truly, truly

all is well & each small us

is welcome & beloved here

in this windblown garden tangle.

This maybe is the calamity

ego staves off at all costs:

that there is no disorder

to rearrange, no protection

from the disaster of turning together

in harmony with countless others—

our rainbow body

of small parts a passing radiance

in a bottomless eye.