orula en la pared de mi despacho

the god of wisdom beats a drum
he squats by the road a bearded man
with a cigar the smoke rising straight

high above a bird flies respecting his presence
respecting the distance and the sun
does not outshine his dark brown face

wisdom has roots in the green hills
the blue sky has secrets that will open to those
who strive to understand them who let

themselves be as the bird and feel the thermals
push them up and move them forward
accepting what is and must be but knowing

that they can act both within and against them
that they can take their freedom from the automatic
forces that grace and hold them

the god's eyes are soft what he knows he does not want
to tell you for wisdom is grief wisdom is pain
wisdom is joy and celebration but all

come combined come entwined and can untwine
life itself in a single flash that enlightens as it blinds
and the universe stands indifferent

the gods themselves await the orders of
the force that is no god but which commands
that all must change all die all be renewed

that life begins and ends in pain and no
divine mandate or power can alter the simple fact
that gods themselves will pass and not return