Over and again,
pressed and trampled grasses
pulled back into the sun.
**
This body, healthy
in old age, complaints passing
like yesterday’s gas.
**
true haiku, others
may do—I enjoy the pose,
absent any real work
**
I tire quickly these days,
of formalities
with no obvious center.
Friends inquire, but all I can do
is point to the cloudless sky.
**
The make-shift altar
in the dining hall, they strain
to follow this hakujin,
chanting ancient sounds of joy.
**
Three red cabbages
from winter’s garden; give one
away, one we keep
and the last, too loose,
we add to spring’s efforts.
**
Sounds of spinning wash
from behind the garage door
—morning clouds gather.
**
Heron’s Point, Bear Dance
April 17th
Gulls and geese clearing the sky
of the last of daylight,
raise a collective call to witness
the silence of coming stars
and the waiting drums.
**
This spring afternoon danced
with hailstones,
lingering recollections
of winter
demanding one last look.
**
Borrowing sun tones
from an early sky, the bay
whispers salmon-pink.
**
Light bounces from feet
unrestrained by gravity
—girl cousin-grand daughters.
**
Morning pours blue light,
horizons humming rain free,
full breathed songs of spring.
**
The sun casts light to east facing slopes
cast light through west facing windows
throwing shadows of flowers
on the wall
above the stove.
**
It’s not that each word is pearl pure,
but the source
behind the impetus
is just that.
Prayer resides here,
in the quiet sweep of attention
before words.
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