Splashes in the stream

To study dharma

is to study the self, as it comes,

as it goes.

If she’s not herself,

then who am I—all alone,

the wife’s really sick.

**

The hummingbird darts

in and out, a brief visit—

flowers along the rail.

**

She asks for something cold. I get it,

worrying that my coffee

will cool.

**

White and gray cumulous re-gather,

                  chasing the blue

                          that chased them away.

**

Old friends, the monk

and the minister huddle in conversation

over current medications.

**

The wife in the hospital,

I sleep on her side,

use her pillow—in the silence.

**

Late night—the wife in the hospital,

waiting procedures—and I at play

with vows

or is it prayers or deals

or offerings to stem the tide?

**

Amidst the swirl

of un-answerables,

the smallest next step,

pronounced aloud,

pulls the foot forward—

the only certainty.

**

Having no idea what day it is,

I work the numbers back and forth, 

hoping to reclaim the present

with a name—

**

The nembutsu spirit…

It’s movement, movement

through familiar terrain

that smoothes the tangled tasks

of new challenge

with the taste of readiness.

Forcing myself out of bed

at the regular hour, to stretch,

to the street and curve and climb,

the distant bay

in thoughtless periphery.

Each step littered

with accrued anxiety discarded

of itself, self-patterned breaths

tracing true the sound of the real

way home,

sitting, lying down, walking,

Namuamidabutsu

**

The pine stands its own

against the distant back drop

of gray, the great eucalyptus too,

and the tall palm. All quiet,

quite dignified in their place,

while I who barely merit a silhouette,

seem somehow to believe

it is I who tower…

**

To wonder

if one has

yet to live.

I wonder,

is this

a question

for concern,

of regret,

celebration

or renewal?

I mean, I ask

and having asked,

looking now

to the sky—

what a wonder!

**

Friends

Looking out at the morning hills, as we often do.

The rise most near lifts pale green grasses

into cloudless skies, the downward slope to the north

and west, revealing the distant ridgeline

that overlooks canyons not visible from here.

Varied shades of spring green, peppered with the light

colored faces of the houses of this small community.

The great eucalyptus that leans to the corner

of the window, the porch railing, quivering ornaments.

The blanket covering my legs. The warmth.

And on the table, the large burnished vase,

full with multi-colored flowers,

sending signals of wishes

for a quick recovery.

**

And through the door,

the many containers, warmed

with the heft and sustenance

of love.