the old man had lost something
of inestimable worth
more precious than he could ever say
now his burden felt a little lighter
a little lighter
as he went upon his way
(first posted 3 Feb. 2016)
the last boat
then
to awaken
only
after the last boat has left
here
where each grain of sand is unique
and miracles unlikely
garden
there is no sorrow in my garden
only life and death
the coat
he disliked the coat he had been given
but wore it because he had no other
it had been made with love
and given with love
but only when it was worn through
did he learn to love it himself
release
I open the door and release them
one by one
they come to the door and I watch them go
in pale December sun
and some of them are beautiful
and some of them are old
and some of them are ugly
some as cold as stone
and some of them are holy
[first posted Jan 3, 2016]
unfolding
looking up between cedars
I find my meridian
as if these were last days
unfolding
days granted
days given
yellow book
a yellow book
on a white shelf
in morning sun
I open it
and read from it
when everyone has gone
don’t worry
rejoice
in what you have begun
yellow book
white shelf
morning sun
done with trees
two trees
they may be cedars
between the ridge and me
one is tall and straight
the other leaning slightly
I focus on the first
and breathe
accept the peace it brings
feel good
renewed
I stretch my arms
and then feel bad again
that’s meditation for you
what more can I say
it takes some time
I took the time
now I’m done with trees
for today
Night Light
Awoken by cramp
in the middle of the night
I got to thinking:
if I move it hurts,
if I don’t move it hurts,
whatever I do it hurts.
And in this comedy of helplessness
and the glow of the landing light,
I felt a voice within me say:
pain you can survive
pain means you are alive.
And then came sleep,
and then came sleep,
and then the clatter
of my children’s feet.
Last call
For the remainder of the day, everyone sat in silence
not quite believing what they had heard,
and later, as they made their way to the summerhouse,
I waited my turn in the Japanese garden.
The gong was sounding for supper, I remember,
as I made my last call.
The cherry blossom looks so strange in the twilight,
don’t you think – almost ghostly.
