There are spaces between
do and dream
have and want
being and becoming
intention and result

Spaces,
emotional spaces
room for love.
What is not
still becomes.
Two cells become
a being, on and on,
again and again,
coming and going.
Being and unbeing,
Where to go
and what to do
with this heart of mine
and love of you.

Ghosts walk on Great Blasket.
The gulls and the wind
scream over the rocks and across the waves-
a wild sky a wild wind
lives lost
lives saved
lives lived-
but no more.
the language of the angels
no more the small boats-
a time and it's beings gone-
gone forever.

from green to red thw leaves have turned
as sunlit summer turns to winter grey'
Cold ashes of garden waste we burned
drift on the breeze. nothing learned
just sadness for another year gone away.

For me no counting of the hours
no totting up of days and weeks,
life is short, just ask the flowers.
Over us all dark death towers,
he will always find what he seeks.

No beginning without an ending;
as runners finish others start.
The race goes on, still sending
hope to all of us. There is no amending
this, just carry on and play your part.

Here we go again,
over and over,
up the ladders and
down the snakes.
Virtue losing,
vice overpowering.
No nirvana
now or ever.
Do we keep on trying
not crying at our fate.
Never too late to be
better than we are
yet not enough to
make the escape we
have been promised.
The melding with the all,
the consummation of
our goodness
the celestial dream
the perfect salvation.
Ah,
we must start again.

While listening to Schubert,
the string quintet,
I lazily picked dead leaves
from the oxyalis.
I cannot listen to music
and pick dead oxyalis leaves
at the same time.
So,
I lost a few bars of the
quintet to inattention
though the oxyalis was happy.

Then there is time,
remorseless as Panzers
on the steppe-
killing everything it meets.

There will be no
renegotiation,
the deal is done,
was done so long ago.

All of us
little victims
of the clock.

I will let you
chase me across
the dance floor of dreams
where every dance
is a message to
the future.
And if you catch me
we might tango into
some delightful and
suggestive liaison,
twined together for now
and maybe for then.
The music moves
in the air like dust,
shimmering in the
brightness of our being.
We can dance, or not,
it will make no
difference whatever but
we shall never
move like this again as
we did not then.

Off we go
in tango time
off we go.