ask for words
for script
pour this into a cup
drink slowly
let meaning slip into the heart
then
scrape letters from the dregs
eat them one by one
bitter and sweet
tasting of wisdom
tasting of tea
ask for words
for script
pour this into a cup
drink slowly
let meaning slip into the heart
then
scrape letters from the dregs
eat them one by one
bitter and sweet
tasting of wisdom
tasting of tea
hours watching the sky
light that changes every second
summer weave of branches
textured movement of clouds
illusory drive of time
underlying these fluctuations a stillness
the pause within the flicker of a leaf
the infinite moment between exhale and inhale
the ever-present calm of the gap
no one that sees, nothing to be seen
only seeing
those who came before us
whoever we are, whoever they be
do they mourn the current destruction
or rejoice in the smaller joys
do they care, the ancestors, the revered ones
the sainted and the destroyers
they who change roles depending on view
will the little happinesses that anchor our lives be enough
and if we call out in desperation
these having ceased to hold, will they answer
all their wrath, all their wisdom
what becomes of them unheard
the forgotten gods and the abandoned elders
now crumbled remnants in the dirt
in order to contain the day
this day, the only day we have
build it carefully around each breath
each heartbeat each blink of the eye
the respiratory exchange the cadenced pulse
the pupillary response to light
these indicatory of physical life the structured body
the corporeal manifest all for naught
unless we construct with intent
know where we begin and end
always always let both these be
compassion and wisdom
can remake the past
change concrete actions so
turn emotions inside out
why fear what waits ahead
time before and after a Mobius strip
twisting so that it returns to now
always now, the present moment
the only ground where we can stand
itself the firmest mirage, illusory
the moon reflected in a pond
except for faint greasy smears from late night conversations
residual ashes of cigarettes, circled marks of coffee cups
we played at weary knowledge then
told stories we had not yet lived
considered ourselves futile actors in some imaginary play
one by one we all left the kitchen
the door hanging half ajar
seats pushed away from the table
as we went out into the years
and all we didn’t know
translucent in the bright noon sun
warm from the summer-baked sand
containing stories pulled up by the waves
tumbled upon the shore
hold it up so that they flow out
to be carried by the gulf salt wind
there to rest on the fanned palmettos
and the serrated dagger leaves
so beautiful with wonder
sharp enough to make you bleed
how many words for fear do you know
how many for love
I have called fear by a personal name
I have seen its face
likewise I encounter love
far more often in embodied form
I cannot number its labels
do not ask me terms for fear
the world will furnish these enough
gladly will I provide for love
begin with this
you
one foot out the door
the other on the threshold
a pause to look back
only but a caesura
a space where I had rested
these four walls this roof
a temporary shelter
longer than some but never mine
every home that inhabits me
any home that I can claim
I carry with me
abiding in the steadfast of love
to awaken from this dream
into bare rooms and vacant walls
with every step the floorboards crumble
falling away into ash and dust
light streams in from the morning sun
as the roofing joins the cumulus array
even this body discards form
skin and flesh slough off for varmint food
bones fragment to pebbles in the dirt
ragged filaments of dreams and desires
left for claim by spiders and beetles
finally self itself drifts apart
like the parachute wisps of dandelion seeds
perhaps of use by birds for a nest
happiness indeed