Altar of earth
Altar of earth, altar of the palm.
Rite of the nimble elbow–
God resides in the forearm,
Waiting like an owl.
In the lucid gloaming,
In the throttled air of hotels.
In the river of the quiet smile,
Which flows on, on in my
Mind. Like an actual river–
Always where I need to find it,
Never the same substance,
Always the same way.
Translations from the English 
You had me at owl, but you knew that.
I did know that! But I hope you liked the rest of it, too.
I admire this poem very much, Jeff.
Thanks! I always hear “chapbook” or “broadside” or “coaster poem” when you say that…haha