What does infinite longing
sound like?
Where is the vault that holds
the seed corn of sadness?
And how can we mute our fear
when the barred owls in these
dank woods sob in perfect
sympathy
with the night?

Here
the tense oboes find their range
silence pervades their thoughts
the drum marks a beat
while the string section weaves
a hieroglyph of grief
and resignation.

This symphony is called
the song of the night
and night proves to be
full of whispered life
rustling leaves
and the courage to face it.

But night is not synonymous
with darkness.
Its ways and means
harmonize with the light
render half the whole
parcel our sleeping hours
into dreams
and fitful moments
beneath the staring moon.

In the morning
a plaintive bird song
stirs thought
brings the sun into the east
and wraps night's dreams into
a silk handkerchief
where dreams are tightly bound
and forgotten.

Cicadas singing
a nighttime lullaby
sending me off to sleep

i know that
most days
the cathedral of your body
with all its dips and curves
forgotten staircases
and ripped velvet covers
on the splintered pews
is hard to love

and there are days
where you wish that your
body would have manifested itself
as a palace
made of ivory and bone
with great empty halls
that would host nothing else
but your anguished cries
and empty stomach

but these things
are incapable of filling you up
because it is hard to sustain yourself
on bitterness and past scars alone

so i say to you
my friends
brothers and sisters
my lovers
and those living in the wastelands
of themselves

cast aside these
things for you are not a church
or a palace or a temple

no
you are something
much stronger and vast
grow yourself into a forest

turn all the sleepless nights
and breakdowns and hospital visits
and suicide attempts
and those traintracks of scars
into the great twisting trunks of trees

grow yourself as big and bold
as you need to be
protect yourself
wrap up all your sharp and soft
edges and corners
into the bark of mother nature

become a forest
because
through fire and drought and storm
and flood
the forest always comes back
even the charred remains of trees
stand strong

so
i say to you
with your dark circles
and long sleeves
and chest hidden behind a binder
with all your scars
and imperfections
be a forest
because
a forest is unstoppable
it always comes back
it always grows back

and so will you

Karma isn't always quick to act
Sometimes it takes months, even years
To fully come into effect
Sometimes, it waits until you're on your deathbed
And it will come in the form of regret
Reminding you of all of the hurt and pain you've caused

So think twice before you burn bridges
And bite your tongue before you say mean things
Be nice and good and fair
And that comes around full circle as well
Sometimes, it takes a while
But good things do come to those who wait

It was springtime in the capital.
I visit here every year on this day.
Cherry blossoms are abundant
everywhere I look warm spring sunshine.
The wall is long and filled
with the names of the fallen.

I look for the name
of my boyhood friend Joseph Reilly
It is always hard to find.
So many names so much sadness.

We served together in Nam
I hear the explosion
the flash of the landmine.
He gave his life that I might live
a gift beyond any gratitude.

A shaft of sunlight falls
onto the gold filigree
of the names on the wall.
On my white shirt they reflect
like on a screen.
I see his name on me
as though he is reaching to me
to say I love you man.

A cloud passes the sun
and his name melts from my shirt
On the wall it stays