Monday, April 27, 2015

Rear View Mirror

Don't need to cry anymore
The world keeps whirling 
And we do the best we can.
All it takes is each
One voice raised up,
And then just let it go.
Yesterday, or
Maybe a lifetime ago, 
I watched the changing 
Sky and thought
High, up there, beyond 
Where I am
Is where the sense 
Assembles.

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

Balance

Watching, earlier, the
Mystery of water, mercurial
And changing, I then later
Remembered noticing
An orange-gold quarter moon
Teasing further west 
And lowering into the 
Clear night, so
Glorious the black,
And as I closed into my eyes,
A star shot across this sky.
Jumping from reverie 
To that rarest of reminder,
I breathe in gratitude:
This infinite vast place is
So alive. 
  

Saturday, April 18, 2015

Running Ahead of the Avalanche

For Gary

We can decide
That there is nothing to be done.
It is too late.
My friend, though,
Sprints into the terrible and rich
Unknown. 
It is the end, and we
Know this, but he
Engages and survives; meanwhile
I park my angst
Because there is nothing I can
Do, and now, the smallest steps,
The smallest sighs,
The smallest promises
Are as big as the world we are
About to lose
And so, for him, I do not stop.

Monday, April 13, 2015

The Rubicon of Inertia



Thinking through some trouble tonight
I thought, you’ve lost your wildness, sister,
You stopped there at the
Edge, and let yourself dwell in some
Universe not of your own making.
Gradually, as the constellations
Appear the way they’re supposed to,
I think to myself, well then, cross the river.

Sunday, April 12, 2015

Shifting

It's pretty dark,
Still some light in the west;
I see the Evening Star,
A satellite maybe,
A couple of planes going into the 
City. I see the Dipper arriving, 
Which one I'm not sure.
I welcome the constancy of land and 
Sky, and my knowing.
Having such a terrible time, though.
I do not like the years.

Thursday, April 9, 2015

Fine and More

A tentative moon
Shines weak insights onto
Still-bare branches of the 
Linden tree.
In the glance at
Newness, I see some limbs
Are stripped bare of bark.
It had to be
More than the hard winter;
Rather life reveals itself 
In unexpected ways:
Who knew the near-bone
White of the old tree's
Branches
Could be less death,
And really 
Not even life,
But just the quiet, waiting prompt
To notice, 
No assumptions, save that 
Life is brief.

Thursday, April 2, 2015

Fighting Spring

Comes now
The Taurus month, 
Trying to bulldoze into spring
Heads down, we face
A tough transitional season.
Outside winter hangs on,
Petulant; spitting snow often enough
Each day to summon mayhem,
Internal chaos, deep discontent; 
We are forced to count on 
The elusive sanity of change.

Still, there is a seminal lesson
In this awful stretch of recalcitrant days:
Just put your head down.
Stop already with the
Dream of blossom,
Tug of scented sultry sky,
Respite beckoning in sunset lining,
Certainty of some sufficient
All-is-well that we just 
Can't yet find, because 

It isn't there.
So the Bull steps in,  
Blazing blind ambition
In the ring,
The reasons, handicaps, 
And obstacles no match
For the distance of simple 
Detach; wait, it's coming.
Passion finally stomps into survival,
Sing loud, bellow, scorch heaven,
Trumpet reason, logic,
It is April; 
Season will arrive.  
Meanwhile we listen 
To the birds, we
Search the trees for
Scrim of green, we are
Just getting by until this obstinance 
Gives in, and settles 
Into spring.