Running through fire
all day long;
to sway the prescience
of its gong.

This crawl space...
whose sunbeams
hit a person at an
angle and make
them an angel.
Those outer dots
connect with inner
ones, and what's
still of life retains
its point.

The tiny mouths in the waves
fill with night...they talk of
depths for their dying day.
As the surfacing silver fizz
of minnows spread as stars.
Here, seated on the shoreline...
a man flickers as a lamp of
unlearning.
A self-integrating distress
signal.

~We wear these
faces...
to squeeze out
this life~

Having gone unnamed...
there's a type of intimacy that's
unbearable...what the heart meant
to say, overcome with saying.
In a peopled world of degreed
dearness...meaning is many.
That look, that gesture, that touch,
that word...all full, all empty.
The rawness of conditionality
scared to death of change, which
is death itself.
All feeling is painfully aware of the
inability to take hold...
the outline of the
heart is: I can't let go...the heart
of the heart: I let go.

Walking on the
jetty's slippery
boulders at
low tide...
was a wonderful
practice in
mindfulness.

Never enough can be
said of anything...
here n' now--in
particular, rain.
I get the feeling that
revery lives in rain...
glassy faces catalyzed
till blank with unbelievable
intelligence.