first layer, feeling
physical here-and-nowness
constriction of breath
in and out movement
each a different nuance of pain
second layer, noting
it is like this and this and this
labels drop away
dissolving into flow
inhalation and exhalation
third layer, resting
awareness sees itself
elsewhere a spider takes a step
and the world trembles
as you move through your life
may you always look for these
sparkles to catch your eye
lights to make your feet dance
ideas that you can tear apart
to reconfigure in interesting ways
stick all these things inside your heart
a kaleidoscope of hopes and dreams
let this play across the world
bright with love given and love received
and never ever fear to be exactly who you are
(for Dottie)
a small child learning to walk on the sand
useful lesson for balance and to learn
early how to step on ever-shifting ground
in the persistence of imaginative love
whenever I became unstable
she reached for me and held my hand
so that I did not fall
who went beside to steady my gait
it was not her never her someone else always
we lived in innocence among the dead
going in and out of the graves
a finger bone often stuffed inside a pocket
the deceased did not care so nor did we
dirt rocks bones ash were all
objects for wondrous endless play
only as we became older did we learn
that rain and tears are the same
and that a skeletal grin is a fearsome thing
(in my dreams I still run with storms
and toss a skull into the sky)
black armored trucks drive down Main Street
just passing through for now
but there are more of them
and they will stop somewhere in some town or city
to fulfil their ontological purpose
not here not yet and you might say not us
I’ve felt the street shake as they passed
and have seen the pavement crack beneath their wheels
when the ground shakes in these uncertain times
when the house no longer shelters from the moment’s storms
when the heart breaks from all it’s asked to carry
when tears fall faster than the flooding rain
let us hold each other
enfolded in the expanse of silent regard
with spacious kindness for all grief
be a staff in the fog that surrounds the day
a gentle warmth in night’s approaching chill
we have mourned so many deaths and died so many times
we have loved so much and given to each other in different ways
this is now familiar space
no presumption to guide, no offer but this
let us walk together at our own pace
let us walk together in peace
Invitation: Participate in a thought experiment virtually
What: Look into a mirror. Write a few words about what you see in the mirror or feelings/thoughts that arise or even memories that might arise. Anything you wish to note. Any comments, unless marked PRIVATE, will become fodder for poems.
Why: About 7 years ago, one of my teachers, a Rinpoche, remarked that none of us has ever seen our own face. So I decided to do an organized event and play publicly with this notion. Art is always more fun in collab!
When: Oct 18-Nov 18, 2025. The event will take place over 1 month. Should I get decent work out of this, I’ll publish these in a small limited run of a chapbook and offered for sale, ALL PROCEEDS GOING TO KUNPEN.NGALSO.ORG .
I do not profit from my work!
Send me a message or leave a note in my studio
because I still do not know these things
how I exist at all
(I die every so often or each moment, take your pick)
how communication works
(I can speak face to face but otherwise am lost)
how to move about
(I am gawkily awkward as if I’m always in a strange land)
and yet a friend will text at 2:55 am
with a reminder that I’m thought of
my presence wanted in some other place
so I make a playlist to send in my stead
and sit here in amazement
I’ll always be startled by evidence of love
on the surface of the tea, a moon
tilt the cup, pour it into your hand
gently gently hold it there
resting in silent contemplation
fold it into your heart
it has always been there
shining unseen on a hidden shelf
behind the little stones we gather
to throw in all directions but mostly back at ourselves
not realizing these conceal such light
don’t forget to finish the tea
wash the cup and put it away
who knows what the next time will bring
the house burned and walls fell
he and his friends rebuilt it
sweating under the hot summer sun
drinking bottles of cold beer
smoking cigarettes and telling tales
they joked the house would die again
wagered it would be by flood
placing a few bets no one would recover
then vanished after the project was done
their words proved true one hurricane season
the road and land itself were gone
but to this day in the tail of August
the scent of salt, beer, and smoke
and the murmur of laughing conversation
bring me back home and remind me
that houses are not meant to last
