BUT FEAR ITSELF

He only wants to know , he says
what she fears most,what is her phobia,
everyone has at least one, he claims.
She thinks about this for a while
then smiles and says her one true fear
is called phobophobia, and that
she says positively terrorizes her.
He looks confused and she sees it.
I fear, she adds, people who are in fear
even though I know they aren’t contagious.
He smiled, took her hand, and said
You have nothing to fear from me
for I am generally known to be fearless.
At that she cringed, knowing that
Her second greatest fear was mythophobia
and he was a walking, talking example.

SLIP SLIDING AWAY

There comes a moment
at which both memory and history
become blurred at the edges,
where the bedrock on which belief
has been so carefully erected
seems more magma, shifting
threatening to bring down the superstructure
of desire and assumption.
It is the fading that is at once
both fear inducing and exhilarating
for faith is tested and will most likely fail
leaving uncertainty in place of illusion.
This is the joy and treat of aging
where your own life has former lives
that you cannot be certain you lived,
which seem familiar enough but
never with the crystalline clarity
you imaged memory must have.
Memory is a Buddhist river
and so much of the fun
is continually getting
your feet wet once again.

SILENCE

She only wants to know
what lies deep within silence.
He says he imagines it
is a place he can never visit
locked away from humans,
whose minds deny the quiet.
She says she is willing
to continue the search,
for even if she cannot find it,
she may find something like it,
and that respite would
be sufficient for her.
He says he fears silence,
for the loss of all
of his delusions would be
far too much for him to bear.

THE LAWS OF DREAMING

 

Then, in a moment, it stopped
without warning or obvious cause
and it was suddenly dark.
I thought of prying open
the doors, stepping out
into the tunnel, proceeding slowly
down the narrow walkway
eventually into morning.
In the dark, the few bulbs
remaining cast a faint glow.
It was easy, I knew,
to slip from the path
onto the rails where
a misstep is fatal.
When I told her all of this
she clucked and said
I have these problems
because I dreamed
only in English with
its minefield grammar,
where a misstep would
blow up the ghosts of the day
which had waited
so patiently for the
exorcism of sleep.
She said she could dream
in five languages, but
to avoid confusion
limited herself to English
and Mandarin so when
she sensed she was drifting
toward the dam, she could
take up pictograms
and ride them across
the river of night.

DOING THOUGHT TIME

 

 

The hardest prison to escape
is the one whose walls are built
by the mind in fear and trepidation.
It is like the open gate you dare
not enter fearing that you are leaving
and will not be allowed to return.
Atop a pole there are
an infinite number of directions
in which you can go and only one
is straight down, but you fear
selecting any, for gravity
is a fear as great as death,
yet you can feel neither.
The prison of the mind
is impregnable, for there
fear and pain live in conflict
and you are a small boat
on an angry sea staring
always at the roiling waves.