LOST IN A DREAM

In my dream last night, I was lost
in a city of mostly dogs, but what was odd
is that they were all standard poodles
who only wanted to lick my hand and cheek.
I tell you this not because the dream
was unusual, it was in fact rather mundane.
I didn’t awaken with a damp face,
and there was no indication I
had been visited by a dog’s tongue.
I tell you this because you must
imagine how truly strange it was
for all of those dogs to meet
but a single human lost in a dream
that they couldn’t hope to comprehend.

THIN EDGE

He is certain he has the answer
and is imply waiting for someone
to ask the correct question.
He knows he cannot be wrong
For if the answer seems so
it is only because the wrong
question was asked, and that
would hardly be his fault.
He tells people this, asking
that they carefully consider
what the right question would be.
Eventually someone always
gets it right, merely asks
“Are you crazy?” to which
he responds, “isn’t it obvious?”

OLD MONK

The old monk stooped carefully,
gingerly picking each browning leaf
from the dry garden and gently
placing it in the sack he carried.
With each leaf he would increase
his count, always certain that it
fully fell into the sack.
When the last leaf was picked
and even the autumn tree
dared not drop another this day,
the monk dumped the leaves
onto the stone of the garden
and stooped carefully,
gingerly picking each browning leaf.
A watching visitor asked the abbot
if the monk had dementia,
but the abbot smiled and said,
“He is the sanest one among us,
watch how he wholly engages his practice.”

TRANSITIONS

Dusk is that hour
when the mind and eyes
mark the slow transition
from light to dark.
As day slides off,
things that were obvious,
things that once were simple,
grow in complexity
until the intricacy
threatens to overwhelm you.
When night fully settles,
sanity returns grudgingly
and the memory of dusk
is but a pebble nestling
the bottom of the pond.