Thursday, March 22, 2018

Canvas 1,181

Canvas 1,181

March 22, 2018

Bring the blossom

As a child knows to scratch the ground

just where the earth most needs it,

love brings the blossom down

to please it —


bring the blossom,

my vow is not to seize it.

Tuesday, March 20, 2018

Just long enough

Resting against an old wall, I grow moss —
here just long enough for worlds to pass away.

Sunday, March 18, 2018

Canvas 1,179

Canvas 1,179

March 18, 2018

In the river remarkably still

In the river remarkably still,
a reflection of clouds, and of you.

A reflection of you, remarkably still,
and of clouds, and the river.

Remarkably still, a reflection of all:
the river, the clouds, and you.

In the river, a reflection, reflecting itself,
remarkably still.

And what is the river? What is this calm?
It is, remarkably, you. And it is still.

And it is still the remarkable river,
and it moves.

Thursday, March 15, 2018


What will you be today?
A petty judge? A lighthouse?
A solemn tree? All three?

And what of me?
The condemned? A cloud?
The sea? What of we?

Saturday, March 10, 2018

first kiss

plum blossoms . . . the old man


into a soft pink cloud

Friday, March 2, 2018

Canvas 1,164

Canvas 1,164

March 2, 2018

Breath coins

Are you aware of the rise and fall of your breath? Or do you take it for granted, as if your nose and lungs are furnace filters that should have been changed two months ago? And if you are not aware, and if you do take it for granted, then it is only logical to ask what else you are not aware of, and what else you take for granted. Because your breath, after all, is your life. And what is that life? Is it a busy, distracted visit to a noisy, cheap arcade, in which all of the machines must be thoughtlessly fed with with a rapidly depleting supply of your breath coins? Or is it a clear quiet morning after rain?