i am the only one here
and i stand in your place

occupy your shadow
the sun on my face

is your sun
the breath i breathe

is your breath
overhead kites of birds spin

tethered to earth by invisible strings
tonight the sky will blaze with stars

they will be your stars
the moon almost complete

will be your moon
i will be the only one there

standing in your place

last night
the wind wiped away

the rain washed away
all marks all evidence

every road
and trail

are now scrubbed clean
this morning is quiet

the petals ready
everything shimmers

with the promise of

ribbons of rain
curtain across the pond

in a chorus of stones
touch tapping the surface

unspooling in ribs of circles
within the trees

time collects in rings
roots seek the deepest mysteries

at the water’s edge
a heron

that ever seeing eye
stands searching for the shadows of fish

in a flash
its beak trades life for life


empty yourself         of this world
empty yourself         into this world


you will be                warmed & welcomed
you will be                feathered lightly along

i did not know the word for it
so i called out to the man

who was approaching with his dog
sumimasen abunai onigaishimasu

it was

green
be
yond
green
grace
ful
be
yond
grace
ful
per
fect
be
­yond
per
fect

i felt no fear
as the snake moved toward me

beside me
i walked with it

and saw it to the hole in the gutter
it climbed down calmly and went on its way

i still look for it
but have not seen it since

i fear something in this world
found it

and did not understand
such beauty

great mechanical animals wake
and warm to the new light  

giant silver birds roar the sky
and pull above the cold grey of it

the final clip of the moon
is pushed aside by the rising sun

a crow kicks the snow free from the needles
and dusts down the pine boughs

at dusk just below the tree line
deer by the dozen hunger for spring

it is without question or concern
that night moves quietly into place

we keep in motion
across the known
the unknown

we work the beauty
bountiful
and unfinished

eventually the stars
all darken and die

there at the edge
of sea and sky

life is a voice
and silence death

divisible between
beat and breath

do not be afraid
of what is left behind

do not be afraid
of being left behind

accept the circles
within and without

accept that the seasons
were are and will be

accept that we
were are and will be

the something
the nothing

ever graceful
ever beautiful

breathe
i           breathe

words separate
the silence

light’s brittle
and intimate ministry

liquid across the wall
looking forward

let us leave
ourselves behind

we      breathe
            breathe

after days
of rain

the sky
now blue
and bladed

drapes
and unbraids

with pop
and blossom

green shakes free
unfolds in a new geometry

this is the unchanging continuum
the fragile piece of string

infinite at both ends
and here we are

our brief blink
of it
in it
on it

impossibly balanced
and beautiful

a siege
of white herons

came to rest
atop the boughs

of summer trees
every now

and again
one would depart

or arrive
the whole of its body

folding un
folding

taking to the blue
or landing brightly

on the green sway
of each giving branch

is that it?
the obvious secret?

the easy give
and take

of simply walking away
upon the wind?

a pandemonium
of parrots

ridiculously green
against a perfect pale blue december sky

prattled
and shrieked with glee

they darted as they will do
this way and that

well above the ginko trees
still holding high in their yellowgold

remember this

when counting blessings
or giving thanks

sight and sound
heaven sent
or heaven bound

remember this

a hum in the head of the moon

a word in the wash of the stars

heard well above the din
brightly poured forth

red roaring light
in one last lunge

and done

a part           of yourself
apart            from yourself

dusted away
once upon a shelf

it has been a year
since i last walked the trail

so much of it now is overgrown
with summer vines briars wild grass and the lack of foot traffic

i was familiar enough with the way
and could follow along with the low river

i recognized the elbow of it
where the shadow of the heron flew

i remembered where the deer tended to settle in the blue shade
where the rabbits scurried into the brambles

much has changed in a year
or so the keepers of such measurements might say

it is only the stones who laugh at such peculiarities
it is only the blue of the sky who shakes her head and thinks

why are you still so in love
with the sound of your own voice?

a ****** of crows
clearly agitated by my presence

furiously called down upon me
from their shaded branches

with so many gathered in one place
i guessed that they had discovered

something that had recently died
a great summer storm had swept through

the night before and perhaps an animal did not survive
the wilds of wind and rain

i stood there a moment
trying to locate their prey

but could not
so i quickly moved on

leaving the birds to their work
we are all old souled

and kneel humbly before
the ever-balance between life and death

is there any more to understand?
is there any more to ask for?

sunday wakes in the center of the city
black lives matter plaza begins to stir with each bus offering more and more humanity
a homeless man stops to pick up a used cigarette from the sidewalk
he blows on it, places it gently in his pocket, and walks on

at the st regis hotel, i sit behind a 12 paned floor to ceiling window
it is framed in dark beautiful wood and curtained in heavy red velvet
i am waiting to have breakfast with my uncle
he is half blind with macular degeneration and his leukemia and prostate cancer are in remission
he is always well dressed and punctual
over $33.00 plates of scrambled eggs and smoked bacon, we discuss the past, the present, and the future
my uncle filters life through the signs of the zodiac and is always curious about birth dates and character traits
i keep my opinion about such things to myself

in the corner of my brother’s front yard stands a magnolia tree
its trunk and boughs are coated in pale green lichen
its crooked branches steadily offer baseball sized white blossoms of impossible perfume
all are too high for my reach
there is a large rock just beside the trunk that makes for a fine bench and from time to time i sneak away and sit there
such trees offer much in the way of ancientness and wisdom and I glean what i can

my uncle holds truth in the charts of stars
i in the trees

perhaps we are both crazy

so suddenly thundered
ripped from sleep

tipped tossed tumbled
out into the under

of such endless grief
and rubble

now
we pace and pray

now
we scratch and claw at wires and crumbs

now
we shriek with absolute loss

yet all the while
wishing and waiting and wanting

to rise
to rise
to rise

on the same side of morning
we walked toward each other

we did not share a common language
but there did not seem to be any fear  

we all wear our scars for the world to see
what did you make of mine?

at the very last minute
just a foot or so away

your orangeblack body disappeared
into the tall grass

all day i have thought of your death
and how you are now through

to the next truth

all the heat pressed down
until evening brought cooler skies

it all caught clapped
and collided

wind whipped the heavens emptied

both human and animal
humbled by such sacred science
took shelter and waited  

a turtle slides quietly from a log ribboning the water with mud

a rabbit runs across my path
and we both measure equal amounts of surprise

cardinals scoop
and line through the air making both red
and green seem impossibly so

the geese call out across the now prefect calm of the potomac

the world turns over
and we so wildly with it

after a storm like that the birds remain silent and the sky is scrubbed well beyond blue

dead branches litter the streets

a man deeply worried is out looking for his missing dog

a few minutes later the dog bounds out of the woods and runs to me

together we sit and wait for the man to return

a bough bends with the weight of a squirrel

the hydrangeas are heavily sponged with rain

i run my hands across the top of them and then wash my face with wonder

where once i watched a family of six deer rest beneath the shade of a tree now stands the skeleton of a new house

how the hand of man presses nature away

the headless body of a bird and thousands of cicada corpses all dance into decay

a cool breeze keeps knocking waterdrops down

birdsong begins to stir

before me two chipmunks dash crazily across the road

deer tracks fresh in the new mud their thick scent still hanging strongly

they are close and i have only just missed them

the world wakes and unwings

i breathe

and just to be sure

i breathe again

a summer ago

chipmunks scampered all over my brother’s back yard

they hid in the rock walls of the patio eating seeds and grass

once as i sat there in silence one ran right over my feet

but that was a year ago

i had noticed that now there weren’t any more chipmunks in my brother’s back yard and it puzzled me

then i saw its head sticking out of a crack in the concrete atop the basement stairs

magnificently black and perfectly scaled

its tongue pale pink quick

its eyes unblinking

the head leading the thick cord of its body
  
the snake had no interest in me and returned to its little chamber

there is no evil in the heart of a snake

and that is why i have kept its secret

it does not have to be

a blind recital
of words

or memorized notes
of music

it does not have to be

water stepping
over stones

wind weaving
through the trees

or snow collecting silence
in the fields

it does not have to be

any of these things
just as long as it comes

from that part of you
that understands

your tiny place
in the beautiful infinite

there are days dark

pockets filled with pebbles
and worries

nights marked
with restless dreams

sometimes

the clouds
hold no clues

sometimes

the rain is filled
with riddles

then
a new light

then
the sky blue sky

then
you can see
and feel
for miles

we walked
beneath a tree

teeming
it seemed

with white butterflies
hundreds of them
  
locked
in chaotic knots

of flight
it was quite

a sight
what with the heavy pace

of each day
it was nice

to find a quiet place
and watch

such a winged
display

when finally confronted
with the entirety of it

will all the tiny folds
overwhelm us?

will we grasp madly
at shadows?

howl at the moon?
or will we settle

into remembering the impossibility
of the hummingbird’s beating heart

the rain's slap and rhythm
the heavy scent of leelawadee?

despite everything
contracting and receding

won’t we want to lean
into the final soft bloom

to look up
and browse the clouds?

when we gather
around the wreath of flames

what will you do
with your tiny piece of god?

your chip of rib
your unplucked petals

your tuck of rain
your bend of wing?

will you seek the elemental?
will you pursue the intangibles?

do not be afraid
to stray from the center

do not be afraid
to dawdle

and dance
on the periphery

it is a conversation
between


rain and roof
stream and stones
snow and silence
wind and wing
the unfurling yellow flower and the slightest crack in the pavement


it is a conversation
between


mystery and wonder
and it must always be so

there are days that are not easy

moments tethered to exhaustion and preoccupation

music muted within thick walls of gray

there are starless nights

stones that cannot seem to be moved


then new light arrives


the air cools to an easy breath

the delicate electricity that shakes the heart becomes weightless with wonder

the heaviness of what just was flashes and falls away

like the underwing of a red hawk passing beneath the soul of the sun

i once went out over a body of water

well beyond the strand
and the break in the reef

pushed and pulled by the tide, i drifted above crowns of coral
and deep pools of bluegreen

floating there i saw a shadow flash beneath me

a blade that circled and circled

in a blink                   retreating
in a blink                   advancing before finally disappearing

for months i returned to that very same spot
with the hope of seeing the manta ray

to marvel at the speed
and ease of that black kite of a body

what is it
that agitates

the complacency
the curiosity

of your life?

what is it
that shakes

you awake
with the need

to hold hands
with beauty

and danger?

april unties
and loosens light
it unbuttons bloom
and beauty
and shivers

a crow wings
from wire to wire
catch coughing notes
raw and fragile


we live locked


each morning
i wait the words  

each afternoon
i seek the signs

each evening
i hope the notes  

but i know
that they might

not arrive
that all of this

is unexpected
and incomprehensible

when chaos commands
we unbalance scream and seethe
what remains of truth
is bruised and muted
what survives of beauty
is shattered and bleeding


who are we?


sometimes
the greatest courage requires
stillness

sometimes
the greatest strength requires
staring
into the raging face of fear

unblinking

lightning silhouettes
the midnight hills

men seed the ground
with nameless bones

fill the common graves
with rage

without question
the earth will take it all

without hesitation
the rain will wash it all

is there a more potent flower than sorrow?
is there a greater mystery than grief?
is there a singular and possible way to the speed the dawn?

the fox all burnt orange brown and soot footed
sat there in the middle of snow field

she had been watching me plod
and scratch my way across the same icy white surface

suddenly she stood and sprinted up the switch back of our common trail and made the tree line

stopping twice she marked me just before disappearing into a patch of thawed trees and dirt

eventually i made my way over to where she had vanished and checked her tracks in the snow

as if they might reveal some greater mystery

do not bother god with your petty little prayers your world weariness and concerns

instead step outside and wander the woods

ponder the melody of swelling rivers

the chemistry of change within the maples and birches

kneel as one season yields to the next

god applauds the woman who builds her own church

the man who seeks his own salvation

we balance the in between
of sun

and moon
winter

and spring
of the remains bequeathed

from one season
to the next

***** drifts
of melting snow

sidewalks thick
with rust brown pine needles

streets littered
with broken little branches

of trees
brooks babbling

with thaw water  
but right now

the sun has settled behind the mountain
right now

the crows ready themselves for sleep
right now

i fall deeper in love

the crows care little
for the mist

the snowmelt
or the palleted rain

they call
and carve the air

above the park
where do they go

after dark?
in their night silence

what do they think about?
elsewhere

something stirs
from its winter slumber

elsewhere
something uncoils

from its tight darkness
do not concern yourself

with the heavy details
of life

with the weight
of things

that sometimes swing
against you

find a place
with quiet light

and sing

there is a moment
when we speed

from beneath the heavy ground
sometimes

we are met
by a sky thick

with curtained clouds
sometimes

all is washed
in the gray

of rain
most days

it is the gentle sun
just waiting

and teeming
and promising

that this is how
your new life

will begin

they still
                 comb the beaches
                 for bones

they still
                 light sticks
                 of incense  

they still
                 remember

do you know the language?
can you read the words

of the waves bending into the rocks?
do you see the sentences

setting the clouds aflame?
how are you arranged

to receive such things?
are you too heavily armored?

are you a broken stringed kite
too wild with the wind?

whatever burden or lightness claims you
the color of wonder surrounds

do not be afraid to reach out
and touch it

the mechanics
of the invisible

circle slowly
upon themselves

petals pressing
ever tighter

losing light
but gaining strength  

we watch
and wonder

testing the heavy air
so cautious

with it all
things thorned

and what
of the unseen?

do they come
to rest

in dust covered boxes
up there

on the top shelf
waiting?

what is the beautiful question?
ask the tremble

of rain
ask the ocean

ask the leaves
that breathe freedom

we seek
to straighten the face

of buddha
to listen

to the rippling
of the bells

these are the irreparable embers
of the heart

and these have been the answers
all along

there is a light

there it is again

i reach for it

and hope it holds

it does

and i begin to walk my way out

of the darkness

the soul
belongs
to the whole

we dance dust about the details of each day

we clasp hands and sing our tiny songs

we are quick to remember but even quicker to forget

one day the earth will quietly ask to take me back

to offer quiet closure

perhaps with the promise of a star spark or a cloud igniting in a sunset

perhaps i will receive nothing at all

when this body rinses from these bones i shall be far away

or I shall be right beside you

mystery is as simple as that

the trees
the powerlines

and the crows
are all silhouetted

stone heavy
and tethered gray

we pull ourselves along
seeking the sun

or the stars
do you ever miss

your wild life?
washed in light

and rinsed in wind?
don’t you wish

to hear your name
whispered once more

in the crashing waves?

these days paint gray
each frame of film

dulled steel drains all color
from the sky

slate scrapes the skin raw
for what winter will wear

but wait
what was that just there?

did you see it?
the very tip of that cumulus kindled

a single note
of ignition and possibility

so take a deep breath
and remember

if you keep your heart open
something beautiful will step inside

moon
to moon

we dance the seasons through

sun
to sun

we run the shadows

dream
to dream

who is not terrified of the lightning and thunder?

for three days now it has snowed

the boughs bend heavy with the weight of it

every now and again the wind will reach out and tap tease free a cascade that dusts the evergreens

the empty arms of maple and oak are in impossible white

danger is only one letter away from anger

the moon blues the snow

stones stumps and posts stand steeped in night fields

shadows form words to a silence that breathes deeply within

in the hearth the maple waits for flames to braid

each log will catch and ornament the air with twists of smoke and fire

all this until nothing is left

we destroy
but know nothing of real power

we repair
but know nothing of real love

tokyo holds
tightly then slowly unfolds

its maple reds and ginko golds
well into the december colds

the crows of sapporo
so

easy through the falling snow
call out the truths we already know