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AWAITING THE WAVES
“Describe yourself,” she said “that I might capture you if only for this moment a footprint left once you have departed this place and time.” I am, I should think, biologically plausible though straining the bounds of reason once and again. I tend to philosophic androgyny hovering on the fulcrum of paradox. I am the…
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RESURRECTION
In the picture he is young, wearing a uniform that fits him, has his name over the breast, but his hair is longer. The picture is a bit askew, there is a clock on the wall but the time does not matter. He knows it was the radio studio but others would not, the mic…
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FERRYMAN
He comes to me in the dead hour of night the old shriveled man poling his poor ferry across the river of my dreams. He comes when the moon has fled and the stars fall mute and he beckons me holding out the copper coins stating his fare. He comes to me, beckoning, and for…
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FEAR
The old monk asked the young man why he seemed so worried. “Because, sensei, you are old and will die soon!” “Why does that worry you?” “Because, like everyone, I fear death.” “Not everyone, certainly, I do not fear death.” “How can you not fear death?” “There is nothing to fear, I fear life.” “Why…
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LETTING GO
Roshi left last week sitting in the garden of the Zen Center, there then not there, as though he let go his 91 year grasp knowing somehow, it was the right moment. He left so quietly those around him did not hear him depart. Half a lifetime ago I sat at his feet, unable to…
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THE FLY
The fly hovers before me I stare at it trying to freeze its diaphanous wings to hold it, still, in my mind’s eye locking it in a moment that might last my eternity. I sit calmly in the chair staring out at the storm building outside the window as the fly stares at me seeing…
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LLANYSTUMDWY
The small church is tucked alongside the narrow road, its moss encrusted stones bathed in the November sun. The headstones in the churchyard lean askew, sagging under the weight of time. The weeds sprout up answering to a silent call. We are here, they seem to say, to reclaim our own, and we shall do…
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WORD
If I asked you for one word how would you answer? In your dreams, do you have both arms, can you write your thoughts on a scrap of paper and tuck it away? You had a lover, once, and he would trace his finger along your thigh. Do you miss that touch as you rub…
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THE FORM OF A POET
It seems odd driving by Mount Hope Cemetery knowing Adelaide Crapsey’s grave is there. If Basho were there a much smaller grave would do under summer’s sun. Shakespeare is buried in Stratford-Upon-Avon so this can end with twelve lines to spare.
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ASHES TO DUST
The dolphin is born of the water, the man born of the fire and of the earth. The dolphin swims unrestrained, the man chooses to live in the city of Afterlife, focussed on impending rebirth. The dolphin stares up in wonder at the amassing clouds, the man curses the sky shielding him from heaven. The dolphin…
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an old writer and his words 