—Counterbalance
Bodhisattva nods, motions
and says, “It’s ok, you go
first—I’m last.”
**
Hummingbird, hummingbird,
darting falling evening,
hummingbird, hummingbird,
light is leaving.
**
Letting go
nothing to lose
lets you
give all.
**
Without sun light greys
release to breeze,
shimmered leaves
darken green,
calling shadows
close space
for holding.
The chest rises
wanted spreading
singing quiet.
Evening chills.
**
Unfolding
darkness reveals,
often slowly, yet always
a life’s time.
**
When younger, Mondays marked meaning
mounted and ready to fill minutes all the way
till Friday closed full to running over—but this
Monday, these Mondays older now wander,
open fields of questions not even thought
to be asked, till posed by feet or legs starting
and stopping, starting again here
then there, till Somewhere
is reached,
is declared There
and
How Wonderful…
**
Seeing what I’ve had
all these years, I sit
and let it do again, here again,
all this time,
just because…
**
full moon
porous blinds
morning
darkness
**
Being at rest with un-rest
lightens…but make no mistake,
un-rest rules—you
just watch…
**
There are some, mornings like this,
where hardwood floors stay soft, feet warm
and the granddaughter’s voice rises
in the glow of text message
to mend disquieting distance
with echos of the heart…
**
Houses in the east facing hills
glisten, their windows speak
sunlight
the same way words, gifts
of language, emerge
from our mouths—
but windows’ transparencies
make no claims,
just celebrate…
**
That we unceasingly continue to try
to place lasting names
on every conceivable nook and cranny
of experience
is who we are—simply listening
to the music, however, of that
inherently flawed effort
tells us ever more of ourselves
and our worlds than any bunch of words
ever—hum along, and see…
**
Minutes pass by
swaying bamboo
under blue, blue sky,
thinking of you, and you, and…
when immersed in the throes of
so much love
attachment diminishes…
**
The moon shrinks
toward new beginnings,
a waving hand watching all
who glance back and all who don’t,
alike, all present
just the same.
**
In the almost hurried task
of selecting books to donate,
clearing shelves before my children
must,
I find scattered throughout
long forgotten roots—
phamplets, slim volumes,
early efforts, teachers,
followers, deeply personal
roots that found fertile soil
in me,
that again begin to tingle
that tingling
I’ve long thought gone.
NamuAmidaButsu
**
Orion fills the horizon south
morning sky
reminder
of turnings
greater
than our own.
**
Off to Australia, New Zealand
waiting with their spring,
while here leaves thin
their color
fades
falls
to ground
burning
with wanting
of coming
autumn.
