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Often while reading,

I scan the words,

turn the pages,

and then the book

vanishes, and I vanish,

aware of nothing.

 

To hold nothing,

and have nothing hold,

I desire this freedom–

a breath unnoticed,

as it is

ubiquitous:

 

Radiant, without center,

I cannot name

my discontent.

A wind, at my ear,

stills as I turn;

yet, still’s nearby.

 

(November 4, 2018)

Leaf Fall

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Somewhere, not here

A field lies open,

Unframed, without

Mind, as if lost,

Waiting on ritual.

 

In Increments,

I have changed.

Each day dawns

Into itself;

There is no other.

 

Hear, and here

As well, I

Still seek

Her across

These echoes:

 

She followed

A fragile winter

Ice across a lake.

I am cold; the wood

Grown dark.

 

(October 30, 2018)

Waiting on the Muse

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“I live by impulse, by emotion, by white heat”

–Anais Nin, “Henry and June, A Tunnel of Love

 

impulse would not wait

to feel the white intensity;

with no emotion to attach,

she’d coldly leap away,

unfinished, unresolved.

no tidy ends in escape,

just bloodied stumps

where our hands were

torn away through neglect,

and unrequited regret.

 

(August 19, 2018)

The Weight of Regret

Court-Weight-Scale

to lost friends

 

The weight of silence

is not the same

as the weight

of absence;

anymore than the weight

of disappearance

can be the same as

the weight of being left.

 

The weight of forgetting

is much lighter

than the weight

of the forgotten—

for it does not carry the weight

of all that can be remembered.

 

(July 25, 2018)

Rothko Chapel: a meditation

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like stepping into a still pool

deep in a primal cave—

you slip into this silence:

 

the light breathes, a liquid

luminescence, in slow

arrhythmic breaths,

 

and you are changed—

you see what you want

to see; desire, fear, hope

 

flicker across the surface

like faces of the dead,

hesitant and fleeting

 

until you see only your self

stripped of all significance

 

(July 2, 2018)