IS THERE AN ECHO IN HERE?

He said to her, “you know
it really irritates me how you
always seem to repeat yourself.
Say it once and that’s enough.”
She paused, thought about his comment,
then said, “You know, despite
what you say, I don’t, I
don’t really, but nuance
is something that always seems
just beyond your comprehension.”
He bristled, “You could be more
subtle, you know, perhaps
it is always on the thin edge
of my comprehension, but gets
pushed way by the repetitive
battering you feel the need
to impart, over and over.”
She smiled, “I doubt it,
I truly and sincerely doubt it.”

NIGHT ARRIVES

When we finally allow night
to settle in around us,
and we curl together in anticipation
of sleep, we fit comfortably,
but with no less passion than
when we first did this, but
a passion tempered by less need
for flame, more for warmth
and a gentle caress.
We could not have anticipated this,
and still it seems quite natural,
the fulfillment of the promises
we exchanged, these vows
held sacrosanct and beyond value.
In the morning, when we repeat this,
we know that from that moment
the day still holds infinite promise.

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
to describe the soft brush
of your lips across my cheek,
your hair pressed into my chest.
There are no words in Tibet
to describe the faint bouquet
of soap and morning coffee
as she dries herself slowly
in the mirror that runs along the sinks.
There are no words in Tibet
to describe the sound of her laugh
half giggle as we watch the kitten
roll on her back, paws up
reaching for the mote of dust
dancing on the heat rising
from the fireplace, pressed down
by the lazily spinning ceiling fan.
There are no words in Tibet
to describe her eyes as they dart
after the Monarch that flits above
the deep purple Sedum that stands
in silent prayer to the sun.
There are no words in Tibet
to describe how she cringes
at the sight of the buck
lying alongside the road
eviscerated by the fender
of the car, long gone, his horn
buried in the shallow dirt.
There are no words in Tibet
to describe the ripples of her spine
as I run my finger down her back
while she curls, grasping
at the margins of sleep.
There are no words in Tibet
for all of these, no words
to fill the room, to blanket
the lumpy mattress on which I sit
staring at the blank screen
of the TV, reflecting the neon light
of the 24 hour diner that flashes
through the gauze curtains
of room 4218 of the Hyatt,
merely the echo of another plane
lifting out of the San Jose airport.

AN OVERHEARD CONVERSATION

“It will never be what you think it should,
and not what you wish it to be,
unless by pure happenstance, so just
relax and allow things to happen as they will.”

“I know I can change the outcome, have
it conform more to my will with enough effort,
if others like you don’t get in the way,
so sit back and I will gladly show you.”

“Do what you wish, I won’t be a problem,
but when it doesn’t work out, do not
come to me complaining about the time
you wasted and I won’t say ‘told you so.'”

“Fine, then just sit there and watch,
but when the fish jump into my mouth
please remember they are mine and you
still have to dive for your dinner.”

UNTIL DEATH

They sit placidly
on two small chairs
placed by the steps
of the Great Shrine
each in the wedding clothes
their families have worn
for generations too many to count.
I stand, out of the picture,
leaning on the gate,
telephoto lens extended
and gently push down
until I hear the click.
They smile as their fingers intertwine
certain their ancestors are pleased,
that the great Buddha
they will next visit will approve.
I smile as I tuck the camera
into my pocket
certain the couple
in their marital joy
will be a fitting screen saver.

INTERACTIVE

 

He slides into the bed after she is long asleep.  It is a well rehearsed dance, and she senses his presence deep within her dreams.  He leans into his wife, traces his finger tip down from her temple, along the line of her jaw, into the hollow of her neck.  In this dream she has grown younger, more beautiful, as he has bent under the weight of time.  In this dream, she dances around him, her feet never touching the floor into which he slowly sinks.  As the birds begin their morning symphony, she wakes and slips silently from the bed, her gaze lingering on his slightly graying beard.  She kisses him lightly on his cheek, and in his fading dream he reaches the cragged peak of the mountain.  He smells the scent of pine, then the faint lavender of her pillow, as she steps into the shower and he eases into morning.