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RAPTOR
Bald eagle perches tree top winter barren gray and stares at stunted pines. Hawk, head tucked under massive wings reaching for distant stars rides a thermal coaster waiting for squirrels. Hills cry out raging against dawn tears flow puddling in footprints of a distant god.
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FAIREST OF THEM ALL
Once I was six foot four with long blond hair that would have made Fabio jealous, but sadly I woke up. Now in the mirror I am a balding five foot six, middle aged man who wants only to return to the me of my dreams.
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DHARMA
In Tibet there are more than 80 words to describe states of consciousness, several words to explain the sound of prayer flags rustling in a Himalayan breeze that reaches up to the crest of the peaks that lick at the slowly gathering clouds, all of these words never uttered. There are no words in Tibet…
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TERMINAL
Birth, he said, is the first and only real terminal disease. You only realize that, of course, when it is far too late and there is nothing at all you can do about it. Cancer and all manner of diseases merely shift the timeline, but once you’re on the path, there is only one way…
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FINDING
It’s all a question of knowing where to look for one, but ask what would you do if you stumbled across it. It’s not a simple decision, nor should it be. The better question still is how you will know when you finally find it, for it is marked only deep within your heart.
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A MONK IN MEDITATION 鐵笛倒吹 七十語
A man may own may volumes of great knowledge and never have time to read. An illiterate may take such books and fashion a stool on which to sit in meditation. Which of these is truly wise which the greatest fool. Wipe your mouth with this page at the conclusion of the meal. A reflection…
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RAKUSU
The last stitch is sewn, the loose threads trimmed, the pincushioned fingers are swaddled in bandages, bits of brown thread plucked from sofa, rug and shirt. It is done, save for every other stitch you now want to pull and resew, the mocking voice of the needle convincing you otherwise. All that is left is…
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HIGH DESERT DREAM
The mountains rise, bluer blacker than real against a faded sky. The ancestors have fled these hills, no orange eyes stare out of the night, no voices of the trickster take up chorus against the stars.
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MORNING SONG (AWDL GYWYDD)
The sun creeps down city streets, dew retreats from the grasses and fills the air, with sweet scent until spent, the bus passes. The robin sits in the tree as worms flee into the lawn. The morning foretells the rain that will slowly drain the dawn. The city quietly wakes and stretching, shakes off the…
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LATE NIGHT, RITZ CARLTON, SEOUL
A seemingly endless stream of young Thai men pour out of room 314 like so many clowns tumbling out of a miniature Volkswagen Beetle in the center ring. They laugh, chattering, lacking only oversized shoes to complete the image. They stand by the elevator in a contagion of giggles. After half an hour they return,…
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an old writer and his words 