A poem falls short; I'd like, instead
to draw a single line from me to you
and watch it curl into a word
so beautiful it's still unsaid –
or press paper to the window pane
so that the day might saturate
a note that brightly warms your hands,
spills birdsong from imagined trees
and buzzes like fat bumblebees,
but I am bound by language, love; I can't.

Me: Your dog is beautiful. Where did you get it?

Her: From a shelter. She rescued me.

When we stop
When we stay still
When we open our eyes
open our hearts
really see
really hear
be with our senses
here
now.
We see beauty,
We feel peace
and joy.
We receive love,
We give love.
We are one with everyone.
We are one with everything.
We are one with God.

-


would i rather wait in line
at the entrance to Hell
knowing at least
that i had
tried—

than to stare at the Pearly
Gates coming up with
excuses as to why
i didn't
?


s jones
2021

.

I sit along in the dark bamboo grove,
Playing the zither and whistling long.
In this deep wood no one would know -
Only the bright moon comes to shine.

Tomorrow is such a different
world
away
from me
and you
tonight