TOO-LY MUCH

It is one thing to be short,
quite another to be too short,
just as it is one thing to be tall,
another thing to be too tall.
It is a separate thing determining
where the border of “too”
should be drawn for any dimension.
I am short, but I will never
be too short, and never too tall.
Some believe faith is a dimension,
and you can be Jewish or too Jewish,
Christian or too Christian, but I
am Buddhist which cannot be a faith
for you simply cannot be too Buddhist.

CLOCKING IN

Once upon a time
is the oddest of expressions,
for nothing is upon time,
this one, or any other.
And can we be certain
what we think once was
is committed to a memory,
which is fallible
in the best of times.
or more precisely, in the
best of time, for time
cannot be plural, though it
is inherently evanescent
and is gone as we watch.

PRECISELY

 

On the radio this morning
the DJ played the classic
“In the Midnight Hour,” and I
pause to reflect on the fact
that midnight is a moment
and cannot be an hour,
by definition, since the halfway
is only a point, not a range,
and you cannot put
a home on an hour, for time
waits for no man, and waiting
is what a home
is all about, and around.

GOLDEN MIRAGE

Another day attempts
to slide by in the shadows,
avoiding capture by pen and
journal, fleeing into night
where November clouds
provide infinite hiding places.
Or, perhaps, it will find shelter
in the blinding golden glare
of Pan Wat Lao Buddhadam,
that appears mystically
out of the Henrietta field.
It’s monk smiles, knowing
so very little English,
and I not a word of Lao.
But our gassho brings
the smile of the Buddha
and that, we both understand,
knows no language barriers.