Monday, March 25, 2019
HAWK FACES
Hawk faces
the setting sun.
Evening comes
behind him.
He knows loss.
Sometimes
enough is
not enough.
Sometimes
it is too much.
Depends on
which way you've
turned and when
you've eaten.
Sunday, March 24, 2019
HAWK WATCHES
Hawk watches.
His patience
waits. Hunger
is a sharp-
eyed teacher,
stillness the
hunter's friend.
When the time
is right, wind
will lift him,
the mouse will
say, Sweet death,
be sudden.
Saturday, March 23, 2019
MAKING THINGS
It is the wear of the world
which makes each thing. This shovel
would not be this shovel but
for the work which shaped it.
That path through the grass would not
be that path but for the feet
which walked it into the earth.
All things come in due time as
we mark them with our touch,
as our insistence rubs them
from the idea of thing
to this very real suchness
now showing in front of us.
It's not the naming them but
the working them which makes them.
Friday, March 22, 2019
HAWK
He drives the sky
who flies red-tailed
towards sunset.
Not wind so much
as wisdom carries
him to evening.
All day is every
day as he takes it,
as darkness comes
and each moment
blesses him.
Thursday, March 21, 2019
MORNING AND
Wednesday, March 20, 2019
STARS HAVE
Stars have died
to give us
the elements
which make this
life this life.
Honor those
dead, the stars.
Tuesday, March 19, 2019
EVENING
A redness at its edges, the hawk
above the field, upon the failing
light and wind. I see him. I see
all of them. Not to pay attention
would be to lose my way and it's
too late for that. It's too late for
denying I'm only one more
stone thrown against the darkening.
