The Hordes

I understand very little but the hordes coming behind me know so much   I admire them and fear them perhaps a few have kinship to me are baffled as I was, as I am   I count myself fortunate to see the light that I see, to see by my own lights   The illusion of ownership barely lingers in me, I belong to my body, not the reverse   There is tenderness for what is and can be easily abolished. The dark of violence frightens me   The hordes coming behind me know so much, but do not yet know how little it is, we...

One Note

In the night he played the organ of sorrows whose vast pipes spanned continents and whose music was time, the sea in which he swam and dissolved to become a wail sounding the deep where beginning and end are one note...

You – Point Reyes, April 2015

This April we have brought you along with us hiking these headlands you never knew   you have been with us each step of the way, sometimes light, sometimes heavy, sometimes   a dance of variegated shapes in the fog’s sheen, sometimes transparent, sometimes a suggestion;   you have been here and you have been not here, both at once, so I have tried with each footfall   to reconcile the two, failing as I knew I would the wildflowers are out celebrating the first spring   after you and so many tule elk have gone to join you in this great drought and beauty   is everywhere all around including the black hawks that dot the fog and also my joy in each breath   we’ll walk some more, then more and then no more, but, while we walk, we’ll bring, sing you with...

All At Once

The cat licks her paw   to a Beethoven piano sonata   then lowers her cheek and goes to sleep   I sit and wrestle with my strangeness   I am and am not all at once   and the piano keeps on...

An Undeclared Mystic

Strange anything at all exists.   What is, is!   Profound tautology, but I can’t find a curtain to pull to let me see behind “is”   Wittgenstein snorts like an impatient horse,   “Haven’t you ever heard of getting snared in a language game?”   This is the form fashionable in the West of what in Indo-Persian lore once was called a “tilism” * a magical landscape that can pass for real and hold you for a very long time, even your whole life.   A substantial part of the beam of my attention, is always held in wonder that a pen can be, that I am, that a green shirt can be, that light and robins can be…   I’m dazed by what other people take for granted.   I’m a child or a fool or both mixed up together.   The wonder of water and palm trees and the blue of sky   And dark and stars and the ever unrolling scroll of dreams.   I admit it: I’ve been lost all my life and this is where I’ve lived and this is who I’ve been   An undeclared mystic       *See the “Adventures of Amir...

Bare Bones

too much to read, much too much to read   I watch the leaves falling from the trees   like words from the pages of books the sun has written   I, too, am a book that the sun has written   winter will be soon and white and cold   I’ve lost track of what I once may have known   I’m like that oak becoming naked   I’ve lost track of most of my questions   they’ve fallen from me like leaves from a tree   I keep on reading my way beyond me   I am the bare bones of who I once...