November 2016

A love story:

Just say it, she said,

way back then,

and he did, and so

here they are, all these years

later—just by saying it

the way it was,

so it is now.

**

“…there is no direction

                   forbidden us.”

                              Uchiyama Roshi

The bald-faced, unwavering conviction of connection,

agenda-less engagement of open hands affirming.

Not naiveté, but trust sustained attentively through time 

and space. The point of art: the arc of its doing:

fullness found in steps beyond choreography. 

**

Things realized 

                  while

                       catching my breath:

Separation is illusion, solitude real—the best

we can do is the most we can expect—less 

is usually best—notions of failure, met 

with deaf ears, works—hands truly ready

are always empty.

**

I wore one of those

snap-on safety reflectors

on my walk this morning,

a gift from a thoughtful friend,

given on faith that it works—dark

holds secret light 

that hides there,

unless you 

release it.

**

The light from the lamp

drops across the page

unremarked 

except for the permission 

it gives, which if withdrawn, 

changes everything—

as is so for most, you could say, 

or is it so, say, for those who pass unnoticed, 

unnoticed through so many centers, invisible, 

and then don’t—

does their absence then spell darkness, 

suggest diminishment, imperceptible change, 

or just zero—not even wind, cold constant, 

not even the sheerest petal

of consequence—

like silk , like silk that pours like liquid, 

to the floor, doesn’t reveal answers 

for the fall, 

does it ?

**

                             November 16

Threads…

Chill-chased fingers

find comfort in the cut

of the vest’s pockets,

as vowels followed

for the sake of their sound

curb in settled tones

found on breath

granted fully the space

there chosen in the taking—

fingers too, loose and limber

in letting go, are not spent,

but ready for more.

**

Agenda: all the earth, and all that all

needs to thrive.

Strategy: listen first, listen long.

Goal: song.

**

Two days of hunkered rain, now it’s clear

and earth again meets our feet, takes 

whatever they give and gives again 

whatever takes us along our way… 

no questions.

Knowing a giving way opens worlds

where language melds and gestures

recognize, in kind, gestures intended 

to recognize.

As is so with all of us, each lift of the foot 

is vulnerable to its fall—friends

are found everywhere. 

**

Thanksgiving

Like you, I’ve been in dark places,

and the future—only as far as how long 

it takes to get there—is rarely marked 

far enough in advance to make best plans.

What I’ve learned 

is even the littlest light, if you’re willing, 

will take you the full distance.

**

                                                            11/26

Winters here are green: rains

clean bay leaves, branches push

to buds, coyote brush blooms,

mushrooms mound in dirtied white, 

bear berries bare their red

and hummingbird sage 

speaks its return 

with grasses and weeds

that winter these hills 

again in green.

**

When relaxed enough, 

those things we seek, slowed down 

enough, reveal themselves, 

as that bearded poet once said, 

reveal themselves 

when we’ve slowed down enough 

to receive.