It seems that you are always crossing a divide
Between elements: moving hands through fires
Or pushing feet through the very first waters
In which you were baptized. Here, there are no gold
Candlesticks, but many ancient trees. This dream
Is none: you've unmistakably crossed into Wyoming.
The first night spent in the woods of Wyoming
Was the hardest. You did not venture far past the divide
Of aspens and vacant air, scared of the beasts you dreamed
Of as a boy. They come accompanied by hell-fire,
They said; they come when the sun becomes greedy with its gold
And you have sunk several meters in boundless ocean water.
Men in other epochs relied on the humble creek water
That has stood by you. When they came to Wyoming,
They came with sieves and pans in search of gold.
They unmistakably crossed the very same divide
As you, carrying more than just prospector's tools: fires
In their chests that sent smoke signals to meet their dreams.
You began your journey with a nightmare and a dream:
The recurrence of falling into catastrophic waters,
Failing to swim out of the current, limbs like wildfires
In movement and sensation. But then you are in Wyoming,
Moving through maternal warmth, breaking the viscous divide,
And every pore of your naked skin was secreting gold.
The soil became acquainted with the seeds of gold
Left scattered around as you exited the dream
And descended into the creek. Feet first entering the divide:
Plunging; submerged. Your first and second baptismal waters
Suspending you in the aquatic embrace of Wyoming,
Where you have arisen as the phoenix from ash and fire.
This was when you abandoned the clime of unfriendly fire
And drifted in the shimmer of impervious gold
Through the elements. In the sanctity of Wyoming,
Detaching your marked soul from the black dreams,
Crystallized when you immersed yourself in unstained water
And fled from the old, abysmal divide.
Let foul fires be abandoned in foul dreams:
Let gold hearts be polished by pure water:
Cross into Wyoming and cross the eternal divide.
