Meditation

Do not ask the woods for answers.
Do not expect.
Only walk
until your tread falls slow and soft among the leaves.
Only sit
and let the salve of rooted things draw your sickness out.
(A little more humanity won't hurt them;
never fear.)
Only listen.
Hear your breath in the breeze that rises from the valley;
hear it singing with the trees.
Do not ask the woods for answers.
Only accept what it gives.
Let it give you nothing.
Let it leave you empty.

unbecoming.

the snail doesn't wonder
if its retreat is brave or cowardly.
it only wants to survive.

Of Nothing, All

The blood of summer paints the leaves

That fall to mat the ground,

Glist’ning, pepper-sweet with rot.

Beneath, new darkness churns.

The Earth was born of Chaos,

Says the myth.

Out of blackness, blackness rose.

The black of formless Chaos:

Lightless, colorless, alone --

Black that Is not.

The black of teeming Earth

The crumbling, rich reward

Of all things joined:

Time lain damp upon your palm.

How comforting, how vast,

To bend down in the rain

And take the wet, black universe in hand.

s.k.i.n.

        skin   gives

when      p r e s s e d.

      when it wants.

            skin gives a surfeit.  

   what's  beneath,  within,

      

         disclosed   without

[reserve

disguise

defense].

                       

    skin    speaks

in   patterns:

     the    shape   of   an           

I           Am

unseen     but     to     the     hand     that     yearns     to     trace     it.

  

skin whispers

    be      where      I       am

11/6/2015

We die.

A crimson leaf revolves in river’s grip,

severed from the limb

that taught it life.

Curious misconception,

that death comes only once.

I photograph the leaf.

It is reborn.