you wounded soul
what comes over you
to clothe you in disdain
your joy and love
used to overfill every cup
in pouring distance
do you remember?
you emanated joy
your face
your speach
your walk
good lord! its in your eyes
you insolent desperado

did you hear that?
a song calls us to dance
a joie de vivre
calls
and if you can't hear it now
i will give you all the sacred
space you need to find
your way out
of the pit you've found
yourself in
until then
there's a loud hawk around here
with stories to tell

as a barista
continues to call out
desperately searching
for the poor lost soul
who ordered the
pumpkin spiced latté
only to vanish into
the darkest depths of
societal, civilized obscurity
so i stand before you
holding out
all my gifts

my mistrusting eyes
throw stones
undeservingly in your direction
they're from
an old case
that should have been dropped
years ago
why i haven't been capable
of shaking it off
im not entirely sure
but no matter
you seem entirely capable
of doing so for me

awaking in the middle
of an early walk
it matters not
what I do today
it matters not
if any thing matters perennially
in intent or outcome
worth not a while -
for the leaves golden
just below
an autumn september expanse
of still steel light
and my lungs get filled
to capacity with life itself
three strides - in inhale
exceeding walking meditation -
walking rumination
meager wisdom illume
that today's matters
are too wonderful for me to understand
and so
I understand it all
competently, completely
as the bishop knew jean valjean
as the universe knows a seed
with each abeyant breath

resentment looks bad on you
as does calamitous offense
zealous to justice, you cried "unfair!"
but comparison
    is the thief of joy
    the consistant producer of noxious suffering
remember laughing cares off
so hard you forgot
    the details of the offenses
releasing the mind to behave like a...
school-boy, approaching heaps of raked leaves