Sunday, October 1, 2017


found my watch today, after several days 
missing, time taken with it, leaving me
well, me left behind, timeless 

and free, you’d think

but for that empty wrist, bothered
to raising itself toward my eyes
time and again chasing time

simply no longer there, simply lost

so i’ll have to admit, it feels good 
to have it back, them back, or 
to be back with them

for as limited as time may be
it feels good to be taken in 
again, to be here 

to be, now

to be me


bitter-sweet, the tang of knowing dust
left where it lies, better to see
where we’ve been 

latent flavors rekindling taste


kubose sensei

when years ago we met in the temple
in chicago, close to elevated tracks

arrived late, a portrait of his teacher
hanging on the hondo wall

he spoke of the movements of his
even then long life 

each preceded by someone asking

he was fortunate
he said


life itself, the big screen, asks
all the right questions, like them or not

leaves open options for advisement for
the questions that follow—answers

are not so much touch-stones 
to stem the flow, as buoyed branches

passing to show the flow
will hold you


“if you don’t speak up, we can’t hear you”

            jim james, singer, song-writer


tuesday the 26th of the month
of september, darkened mornings
quickening sunsets

a book somewhere closes 
as words’ pours to the page 

loosen their hold



less than a week back, in groves
of bristlecone pine, high-desert trunks

multiple millions of years of bulked 
and twisted rings

as quiet, as unobtrusive as 
evening’s snow-dust fall

to bare face skin 
and graveled ground 

all alike, never to be repeated
ever again


to return to doctrine too long after
the fact 

is like tracking back

once favored boots now too tight 
for the longer haul

open sky calls for differing resource

yet seminal music
melodies pathways

familiar, nighttime 
or day


the sun slips below the ridge
leaving adrift the chill held secret  
on drafts held still 
before the fire-faced gift 
known to us only in shadow


lingered among the thoughts 
of years of varied teachers

the heart 

pressing thorough through

with trust