Thursday, April 30, 2020

THE GLISTENING 


The glistening
where light hides
after rain.



I HEAR IT 


I hear it
in the darkness,
the monk says;

I hear it
at the edge of light
and in full sun,

everywhere,
the voice that bears
repeating.



Wednesday, April 29, 2020

WHAT WOULD BE 


What would be
sorrow hawk

does not know.
She knows

only hunger.



MONK FORGETS 


Monk forgets
he is monk.

He wonders
when will the

lovely young
things love me?



Tuesday, April 28, 2020

THE DRY GRASSES 


The dry grasses
stand winter-

proud against
spring rain.

Somewhere lurks
the dream within.



THE PLAN 


The old monk's plan
is to make no plan.



Monday, April 27, 2020

NOW 


Not the
begin-

ning, not
the end --

this one
moment,

glowing.
Always.

The stars
know it.



WHERE THE ROCK 


Where the rock
has broken,

the old monk says,
eternity turns.



Sunday, April 26, 2020

METAPHOR AS 


Metaphor as
message

for what the
poem does.



THE OLD MONK 


The old monk
doesn't want

directions when
he's getting lost.

If I can't find
the way, he says,

the way finds me.



Saturday, April 25, 2020

ONE CELL 


I am one
cell in the
greater beast.

You are too.

When we are
gone, it still
goes on.



RAVEN / WEARS 


Raven
wears winter
like a coat,

something
the old monk
understands.



Friday, April 24, 2020

MR. DEATH 


Mr. Death
said, Come

with me.
No, I said,

not yet.
Said he:

we'll see.



MONK'S CHOICE 


Mountain. Rock
the color of

blood. In this
wind he would

test the wings
of angels.



Thursday, April 23, 2020

THIS MOMENT 


This moment
knows it is

this moment.
It waits for

me to say
it: This, now.

Now this one.



REFRESHMENT 


The monk's
refreshment --

cold water
from the rock,

a mountain stone
for a pillow,

the singing wind,
and soon the stars.



Wednesday, April 22, 2020

BURIAL PLANS 


Send my ashes
to some rocky

sharpness on Mars.
I haven't done

enough for this
earth to want me.



DISTANCE IS 


Distance is time
times his desire.

In the darkness
the old monk wears

stars in his hair.
All he wants is

a little something
in his cup and

never having
to explain.



Tuesday, April 21, 2020

WHERE THE WEAR 


Where the wear
marks mark

the earth. If
you can't see

them, I will
show you.


I WOULD 


I would
invite you to

walk with me,
the monk says,

if you can
tell me where

we're going.



Monday, April 20, 2020

TO WHOM 


To whom
does the poem
speak

that they
do not answer,

that they
cannot?



THE UNCERTAINTY 


The uncertainty,
another day,
another dawning.

The old monk has
nothing. Where does
he go from here?



Sunday, April 19, 2020

RESURRECTION: 


Resurrection:
we are

the stuff of
dead stars.



THE MONK 


The monk
travels,

wishing
for less

of every-
thing. With

his sack
full of

empti-
ness, he

gets what
he wants.



Saturday, April 18, 2020

DEATH IS 


Death is
a patient
merchant:

knows
we are all
buyers;

knows
no one else
is selling.



OFF 


Off
   the
edge

of
   edge,
loss.



Friday, April 17, 2020

A WEED IS 


A weed is
the flower
you don't want;

the desert
an emptiness
like your heart.



Thursday, April 16, 2020

DO NOT FEAR 


Do not fear
the pain you know.

It already wears you
like an old coat.



LOVE'S FRENZY 


Love's frenzy
and its sweet
meat. How we

held off the
tasting. How we
teasted ourselves

until the silver
moment of this
moment.



Wednesday, April 15, 2020

OUR TWIN 


Our twin
is the

dying
we go

into.



THE RED-WING 


The red-wing
blackbird

sings the ice
out again

this spring.



Tuesday, April 14, 2020

SO MUCH 


So much
nothing, a

concentrated
wish of

silence, an
experienced

emptiness, a
door closed

and secured.



SOMETIMES 


Sometimes
only

one word,
this one:

evening.
Sometimes

that one
in the

morning.



Monday, April 13, 2020

CANNOT BELIEVE 


Cannot believe
all this universe

is only here
just for us.



CHEW THIS 


Chew this, crow says,
offering me
my own tongue.



Sunday, April 12, 2020

THE LIGHT 


The light
goes

into the
darkness,

which goes
on and on.



WIND AND 


Wind and long
light laying

the tall grass.
This is how

evening comes.



Saturday, April 11, 2020

SOUTH WOODS 


Wind in
South Woods.

The trees
speak for

themselves
and

sometimes
the cranes.



LONG LIGHT 


Long light
caressing

the hawk.
Red-tail

dreaming
evening.



Friday, April 10, 2020

ALL THE 


All the
sudden

birds know
which way

to go.



EVENING 


The fade
of sky

as the
wind dies

and trees
begin

to speak
with stars.



Thursday, April 09, 2020

WIND 


Wind
from the west.
Finally

the world 
makes sense.



THE DAY 


The day
lets loose
towards
evening;
the wind
falls down.

What you
hope for,
though, is
seldom
what you
get.



Wednesday, April 08, 2020

PERHAPS 


Perhaps
it is
the light

I write of

perhaps
the darkness
I fear.



WHERE THE SUN 



Where the sun
becomes a tree.

Where the tree
becomes a hawk.

The color of
this light.



Tuesday, April 07, 2020

EVERY- 


Every-
thing shines

in crow's
dark eye.



RING AROUND 



Ring around
the poetry pole.

No one knows
what no one knows.



Monday, April 06, 2020

NOT THE POET'S 


Not the poet's
knowing

the poet's
knowing

he doesn't
know.



WATER AND SKY 


Water and sky.
From here the distance.

Beyond it, more.



Sunday, April 05, 2020

BLUE, AS 


Blue, as
a color,

the absence
of knowing,

lost like
what you might

have said.



COYOTE OFFERS 


Coyote offers
promises.

Raven will get
what is left.



Saturday, April 04, 2020

ALL THINGS 


All things
at evening

call to us.
We come

running for
darkness.



DISTANCE / TIMES 


Distance
times time

plus wisdom
divided

by hope
gives you

the way
back home.



Friday, April 03, 2020

IF WHAT IS 


If what is lost
returns as sorrow,

be strong and hold
the emptiness

as if a friend
embracing you.



SKY 


A loose
grey sky,

yet nothing
stays hidden.

Hawk's eye.



Thursday, April 02, 2020

SHINE 


Shine
of a jet
plane or

an evening
star. Salmon
sky as

day fades.
Loneliness
sets its

own tableau.
All we know
is nothing.

On the wind
some snow.
Bring what

night brings,
Lord. And
forgive me

the darkness
which bleeds
the light.



IN THIS WIND 


In this wind
the darkness.

Nothing lifts
like crow.



Wednesday, April 01, 2020

WE ARE NOT 


We are not
what we think
we are

until we
dream: then
we are

what we are,
everywhere
at once.



IF NOT 


If not an
actual hawk,

the idea
of hawk

tearing the
mouse apart.



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