Sunday, January 31, 2016

How, of a morninge

How, of a morninge, apon the brakeing of ones faste,
tea and cruste doth soe soone revyve : the sayme as a sweete worde,
the spyrte : wherefore songe birdes knowe much there of,
granteing poore man, his hearte, goode flyte.

Saturday, January 30, 2016

Miracle enough

That you are willing to believe you are here
is miracle enough. But listen — do you hear them?
those spirits, those birds, on the roof?

Friday, January 29, 2016

what I would have you see

what I would have you see
is that being of this perfect world
you are perfect too

Wednesday, January 27, 2016

Canvas 626

Canvas 626

January 27, 2016


the limb, the bend, the wind, the end,
the light, the sight, the place, the space,
the grace, the faith, to span,
the leap, is what, I am.

Monday, January 25, 2016


Tire patched, tea done, sun out, wet lawn,
gray cat, wide hat, like that, imagined.

Wednesday, January 20, 2016

Why not peace?

And if all life is endless flight,
and love unfolds to grace the sight,
why not peace? why not light?

Tuesday, January 19, 2016

Monday, January 18, 2016

Why not now?

And if all life is a grateful kiss,
and in one breath we are made by this,
why not now proclaim our bliss?

Friday, January 15, 2016

Wednesday, January 13, 2016


In motion, thinking not of rest,
At rest, without the slightest urge to move,
Upon his breast, a snow-white gull,
As she who answers, loves.

Sunday, January 10, 2016

A clumsy language

When you see the waking and dreaming states as part, but not necessarily all, of the same reality, and yourself as a cloud drifting through that reality, changing density, shape, and color as you go, and reality doing the same, and lovingly embrace the possibility that you and reality do not exist at all, or that you and she do exist, not as you have learned and are in the habit of thinking, but as stars in a galaxy still pondering its desire to be born, and borne, you have come to what might be called the first day, which, in a clumsy language all its own, is best expressed in the words, “I love you,” and then, together, move on, you finally know the meaning of the rings, around the pebble, in the pond.

Saturday, January 9, 2016

pail into the stream

bamboo cross my back
pail into the stream
by this very motion
quench my reckoning

Thursday, January 7, 2016

Shot down

Wing to wind, voice to joy the day; sweet dove, falling from the wire.
Prideful man, your argument is ignorance; behold, the grieving choir.

Wednesday, January 6, 2016

Winter Trees

This links to an old poem (2009), followed by an exchange of comments with a blogging friend who has since passed on. Dear old Brian. I treasure those days.

Monday, January 4, 2016

Of this window

Of this window, two things, knowing they are one:
your breath on icy glass, bright spirits as they pass.

Friday, January 1, 2016

what kind of flower

if I did not praise the ice that clings to me,
if I did not praise the sky that sings to me,
if I did not cry to thee who feel for me,

what kind of flower would I be?