how could I make up
for all your years alone in the
dried up, haunted orchard?

I have made my own small garden
and the cats sit in the dirt
on balmy summer nights and sing
their song that they made
when the world was young

I will share with you the part
that can be yours
I will give to you
a place that you
might rest and sing, too
if you will lift your voice
away from lamentation

can you feel that the very Earth
has come alive again?

the rushing home of all your appetite
has blurred the lens, for just a moment
believe in this, it is real
pace yourself
your soul, your pain, your joy
your wanting, and then
all the receiving, too

your kindness washes over me
and heals the rooms I had walled
away
for all my talk there are places
I assumed Spring would never come again

thank you for being a light to show
that the doorway has always been open
take my hand that
we may wander together
along the path, where
we have never been

all I ask
is to remain whole
and that you will bring your
whole self with you when we meet

I simply
cannot pretend any longer.
either I am enough, in this life
or I am not.
everything else is a lie
tattered in the wind
and falling away
no hands could scoop it up and make
the pretty mask again
and I am too tired to even try

the last packed bag
in her hand
the door made the smallest sound
as she clicked it closed
no one was awake to hear
no one ever would

the car was waiting
and light was just filling the sky
the shadow stood behind her
and then was gone

tap your heels three times
no matter what they say
tap your heels
and wish yourself home
the magic has begun

When I was 23, upstairs in the house
on the busy street
I went to bed and had a dream.

I was in my own bed, in my dream
and a man came into the room
older than me, but not by much
he was nice looking, and had a brown beard
and hair-

get up- he said-
I am a projection here and it
takes too much energy for me to stay long

I got out of bed, amazed.

you must learn to put your problems
into your dream state
and work them out there, he told me
and then they will resolve in waking life

and he was gone.

I stripped and remade the bed, repeating
his instructions to myself, out loud
and telling myself that I could do this, I really could

it was known to me too, that if he was a projection
in my world, then very likely
I was a projection too, of one sort or another.

this is the most clearly overt the dream people
have ever been
though they are rarely out of touch-

they come to take me on the Endless Journey
night after night and show me things
that riddle like poetry
and fill up all the following days
as I try to see through the vastness
of the weaving that is this life
this 3-d printout of the spiritual song
and find my place in it.

I try, in part, because it is that which I must do
and I try, in part, to counter the gnawing
groundlessness that eats me alive every morning
when I awake, in sadness and fear

what a funny tact to use
to try to find grounding in the most
groundless and limitless space there is
the eternal world of dreams
from which everything flows.

it’s all that I know
it is the tool set given to me-
along with the urge to ask questions
to talk to trees and animals
to feel the lift and fall of the wind at night
and to stand calling, with no sound
when the moon shows her face

in that moment that the world calls back
you will never hear from me again
there won’t be a need
I’ll be everywhere, with the dream people
making the rounds
and taking the likely culprits
on a journey that never ends

To the heart on fire
everything is tinder
no matter the guise it wears

tender in the rain
tender in the night
tender in the light of dawn

he comes up to me
and his face is alight
rolling like a ship at sea
slowed but not stopped by
a history and pain that does not
really intrude on our meeting.

My friend! My friend! He calls- how are you?

I sit on my stool, I have my tea!
I have these beautiful hills to keep me company
and I watch all the peoples as they go by-
I am a lucky man.

God loves us: god loves us-
this said with no preamble
and his eyes are mine for a moment and
of course I agree
as it is only the truth of every breath.
God loves his faithful servants; his good people;
he blesses us with life- what more could I want?

The car is full of gas now, and he shuts off the pump.
Asks if I would like my receipt, a proof
that he and I were here, together:
yes, I would, if you don’t mind-

of course, habibi, he says, quietly, and rolls
through the unseen waves of his being to the office and
back again.

And I am gone and somewhere else. But the flower
is still unfolding,
the fire that began has grown larger, even now-

and God speaks to me, through an old man on the hill
in his broken English
and calls me His own.

at the table opposite mine
another aging
slit eyed malcontent
nurses a beer and dares anyone to say hello.
don’t look at me, buddy-
I got all the mirrors I
need, at home.

in the meadow, past
all his big *** fun,
the grass was cut down within the past few weeks.

the passing rain has made it interesting, fertile, exciting:
birds bounce high and then pounce-
mice, for sure, feel their way
with great care.

the angry man has left.
a dog waits in the
back of a truck.

I am still here, to see these moments.
there are things that need to be noted, and someone to take them in.

for this alone, perhaps
I descended to this place.

Last night was the night, that Sue flew high and free-
dear Emma just called to tell me so.
I’m sure she took herself out of the game
before it became too too god awful
and everyone would have to witness the decay.

She flew in the night. She has no more pain, she
is no longer tired to her bones.
She has no more bones.
Just the echo of her final breath
as it will stay in the hearts of her family
until they find her again, as night
becomes day.

Her brave first born daughter on the phone
Sue wanted me to be called, not to see it in an email
she wanted me to know, she wanted
her daughter to tell me so.

I told Emma that I loved her, and wished
that I could give her a hug
and how I knew I would always find her mom
again some other go ‘round.

She thanked me for being her mom’s always friend.

There wasn’t much more to say.

Now I am sad, and angry too
and everyone I didn’t ever ever want to lose is
in the room with me
and their eyes are kind
and the fact remains.

It seems that only our breath
binds us together
but that’s not exactly true
I remember the sound of her voice
it has a small, snug cottage in my
inner place
she is safe, and warm, and free
and happy
and
everywhere all at once.

I wonder what that is like.

My dear old friend
is waiting for people
to bring her the pill, which will end her life.

She wants it to arrive
before the pain is too much
before the confusion cannot be laid to rest
before she loses her self along the way.

She did this life full up
her hands were always glowing
she did not take more wounds than she could carry
and she did not hide from those she had
and spend her days, as some of us might
standing three quarters in shadow
hoping to be whole again
by chance.

She held it all, once she was grown
in her long strong arms
and carried it full term
to the Big Table and
without a sideways glance or
a catch in her breath
she shared it all with everyone there
with everyone whose eye’s could see
with all the family from all our lives,
she shared and then felt better
to have touched as she was touched
as light knows itself, and rejoices.

This is the story. That is how it unfolded.
Now, what can be said?

I am so full, it’s leaking out
everyone here, everyone at the big table
we could never be more proud
of the person you are, and the person you
let yourself become
your willingness to be
and become whole
even when it looked like
everything might fall apart-
you’ve discovered the trick
that nothing is as simple
as it appears.

I will remember your smell
the suchness of you, in passing
and be sure as you can be
that I will know you again
in another time, another life
when you are fooling me
by being my child, this time
or maybe a happy dog I see
along the way

this is what the tricky ones do
as it is their heart at play
because they finally know that
they rejoice in living all the parts of this life
but they are not bound in fear by any.

Thank you for teaching me, and
being my friend.

In the distance, I can hear the bell calling
wake up wake up wake up
it has echoed near and far
always, throughout my life

I share this with you
as a clue on your journey
and I will loan you, if needed,
my old well worn night wings
you can jump up so high
and then break the illusion
ride the bell singing
way up to the breathing
the endless breath circling
high above this world

and the wings will drop away
because there is no thing such as falling
and there are no more edges
there is only the song
and the breathing
and  the song
and you

should they tie you to a stick
to light you on fire, for breaking all the rules that your life
insisted were lies of the first order
I will cut the ropes
with my very very sharp knife

and for that moment at least
we can tumble forward
out of the circle
and into the arms
of the welcoming night