sent by the wind and rain, the snow and moon
People never believe me
when I tell them I recall
waking in my crib, lying watchful
a dream, a cloud, a flash of lightning:
view all created things like this
You don’t have many days to stay, traveler.
Across the street, Ginkgo
sway in the breeze
like a gospel choir.
Samsara’s in every in-breath, each shutter click of attention: first warning
signs of famine, children lining up
for the soldiers’ candy
When he called for help,
they put him on hold
longer than he could stand
and he broke
the phone in half.
When his mind grew empty
and his heartbeat slowed to a vague stutter,
our father no longer walked the fields at night.
One of those days when the grain of a wooden table
seems more certain, as if ordained, when gravity feels
I take Buster out for his walk, above us, wild geese fly south, honking, going nowhere, geese without edges, no longer geese. Where did they go? asked Baso. “Away,” Hyakujo … Continue reading