Thursday, July 10, 2025

--so on, and so on...



socks, there on the floor,

chill my feet—outside,

leaves ripple



**



first sunlight whispers

to the dirty window 

to show itself



**



buddha images

on the window sill—all turned

inward—no judgement



**



compassion can simply mean

reaching out into


commonly shared space

with what’s needed



**



chanting—forgotten

rhythms finding tones and words

held body deep



*



haiku science


consonant-cut vowel

sounds make meaning by counting

singing syllables



**



true and real


in breath—out breath—hush


not so much closing doors

as passing through 




**




we short-change ourselves

with talk of hope—we know dark

because light is here



**



ideologies,

yours or mine, reveal reserves 

of deep ignorance



**



if soul is light, then 

our shadows show it, our skin 

knows it



**



and language, language

all of it always


breaking new tellings

of current’s workings


rushing and splashing

freely 


under wide-eyed

wondrous skies—


careful listenings

hearing too 


the hush



**



lost in walking-thought 

‘bout how it all works 


without doubt—every step 

earth-met




**



the post-covid years have lingered

in a strange, lurking way,,,


I’d like to say

overnight things change


but days’ months, years

tell stories too


now of texture-

felt surfaces, 


remembrance 

through touch,


the world scratched

into healing—


yard-talk, tools, sweat 

and dirt 


passed between

we working two,


we, as always,

in all ways,


working as we,


finds my way 

back



**



white-noise musak,

the receptionist lowers

her voice for privacy



**



waking not wanting

much more than to write,

but first, coffee 



**



the page always takes

every bit of living offered—

no rejections



**



my true fellows,

scribbling away their own

way: words, simply



**



from the dentist’s chair,

videos of tropic oceans—

my mouth wide open



**



every morning 

my window asks different questions

of the same view



**



I say simple, mean

ordinary, everyday,

intensely common

ripples barely attended,


noticed, addressed, called-out-to



**



the marine layer

holds this ridge of range for days


not letting go


its miles of inland drift

chill summer days to winter



**



between the houses,

quiet shade holds back 

coming heat



**



slowly looking

around the room

claimed as my own,

seeing how much

regularly 

missed is as if

I’ve just arrived

from somewhere else

I can’t describe

to you either



**



after Cid Corman’s

               & without end


poetry, 

no, poem:


reflective

prayer and praise,


religiosity


in words free

of religion


or constraint,

received and


offered back


in and into

abiding wonder



**



the stroke and pull

of thumb to paper, the thought-

drawing pen…



**



and for me it is

as with the nun Sonojo,

haiku, waka

and nembutsu—at play

in the fields of the Lord…



**



on a hillside trail

among the oaks a small breeze


ripples through the hairs

on my fingers


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