KINHIN (WALKING MEDITATION)

The entirety
of this practice
is to learn
to walk
with a lightness,
so that you
contact the earth,
the grass,
not tread on it,
so that the earth
and the grass
caress your feet
and not try
to push them away,
and all the while
there must be
a gentleness of breath,
so the sky
can fill your lungs,
lightening you.

IN DREAMS

Mingling with the wind,
my dreams are carried off
into the night before I have
fully finished viewing them.
The heavy heat of summer
has seeps through the windows,
a blanket I cannot throw off
almost smothering, until
it, too, is soon washed
away by the rivulets of sweat
soaking into the sheets.
I reach out for my fleeting
dreams, try to pull them back.
But the wind laughs, whispers,
“I am beyond your control
and what I steal belongs to all
but he from whom I took it,
but I leave you other dreams
from other dreamers in its stead.”

THE LAKE

Sitting out in the middle
of the large lake
is a very small island.
It’s more of a large rock
just sticking out of the water,
but everyone calls it an island.
Moss grows all over the exposed part
so you don’t know it’s all stone
unless you row out to it,
which no one ever does.
No one goes out on the lake,
no one swims in it,
the lake is just there, growing
when it rains, shrinking
in the heat of summer.
And that is just fine
with the lake, although
it does like the occasional
pebble dropped into it
so it can ripple like a proper lake
even if no one sees.

NIGHT SONG

The evening shows no reluctance
in enveloping the dregs of the day,
leaving a cool breath of promise.
The clouds build in
enveloping the moon
half pillow, half shroud.
Tomorrow is an empty promise
that will accept what we offer
or nothing at all, save the rain
it will hold back another day.
One star appears, pulls the
curtain of clouds around it
and whispers to the night
I am all there is, cherish me.