are
These feet are tired
These eyes are tired
You are tired
I am tired
That we are strangers in this world
Is more clear now than all the stars in the
Dark open sky
Are.
the seams the storm ripped free
the seams the storm ripped free
as gleaners pulling fruit from trees in autumn do.
but i did not look at you with him
and want to die
there were no acts of senseless violence done.
you were not brought into this world for making maps
or giving directions to blind snowmen in the breeze
or smiling at dull kinsmen on the plough.
yet days and weeks they seem to pass
while soaking in the briny green you pushed me though.
you are a living museum
and me, i am the low paid guard
like the one i saw in turkiye
in the blinding sun
posted in a ruin
of tinsel and pride
of knowledge without wisdom.
what she said, to her friend, walking home at night.
Why do you think the earth is turning ?
For what reason do you think the moon
is setting in the west?
Isn’t it so my love and I can see each other again?
O, I hear the warbler in the tree!
But what can he tell me I don’t already know?
Isn’t he just wasting his time?
from the zen
Escaping myself, I became a priest:
my master prescribing total rain.
Thirty years in this sanctuary like a stolen gem,
my principle unchanged: only the deepest sense of loss; everything.
Meet me? Listen well before this rib closes.
*************
This month turning round like a pole
about to dissolve within. O the burdens.
Fragments and dice, yet where is the change?
No need to keep shaving my head or bathing every early morning.
Just set the table empty, that’s simple.
*********************
The lines that sweep you away
forehead of time, lifting lines like arms in the sun.
I climb my passions disarmed by the witness whose seeing.
Step beyond witness. I ask,
where is there another like me?
**************************
Go place tears for things
under separate categories of
what you do not know.
Feel the shabby chill of your own flesh
fading like the crescent moon
always judging every moment.
