OK Neal
    aethereal Spirit
             bright as moving air
                  blue as city dawn
happy as light released by Day
       over the city’s new buildings—

Maya’s Giant bricks rise rebuilt
                        in Lower East Side
     windows shine in milky smog.
         Appearance unnecessary now

Peter sleeps alone next room, sad.
You’re reincarnate? Can ya hear me talkin?
If anyone had strength to hear the invisible.
And drive thru Maya Wall
     you had it—
                             What’re you now, Spirit?
That were spirit in body—

Body’s cremate
                by Railroad track
        San Miguel Allende Desert,
                outside town.
        Spirit become spirit,
                robot reduced Ashes.

Tender Spirit, thank you for touching me with tender hand
When you were young, in a beautiful body.
     Such a pure touch it was Hope beyond Maya-meat,
     What are you now.
        Impersonal, tender—
you showed me in your muscle/warmth/over twenty years ago 
when I lay trembling at your breast
                put your arm around my neck,
—we stood together in a bare room on 103’d St.
Listening to a wooden Radio,
                                  with our eyes closed
Eternal redness of Shabda
                           lamped in our brains
at Illinois Jacquet’s Saxophone Shuddering,
          the prophetic Honk of Louis Jordan,
          Honeydrippers, open the Door Richard
              To Christ’s Apocalypse—
The buildings’re insubstantial—
That’s my New York Vision
             outside eastern apartment offices
        where telephone rang last night
           and stranger’s friendly Denver Voice
asked me, had I heard the news from the West?