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

when death comes
it will not be the patient ground
that opens up to hold us

it will not be the restless sea
that reaches out to collect us

it will be the wind
that finally takes our names
spins and shakes them apart
tossing them into infinite sparks

are you accepting of this?
are you prepared for this?

the seasons wheel away
and so must we

late to the day’s last light
seeding well beyond

these speeding windows
colors scrape unrestrained

a display
matching exactly

the leaves that still linger
with a tight fist

december clings
to such untouched things

all that is grey
will eventually give way

and deliver snow
but this we already know

when to hold on
and when to let go

all morning
the cold mists

jeweled tiny pools
upon the stubborn grass

of december
silvering

a single blade
a single strand

of a spider’s web
simply sparking the grey

of the day
away


life can be like that sometimes


obstinately one side
of the coin

one minute
then joyously the other

one secret second
later

i like most things


the green feathers
of the parrots

a thousand shingles
of autumn light

long rugs
of snow


                                              i
                                              like most things
                                              will only be here


for that pullpush
of breath

the briefest brush
of the sun

a tremble
of rain

it rained today
and what remained

of the leaves steeped
in the cold november shower

seeped
and stained

the dark
of the wet sidewalks

such
is the clutch

and release
of power

the transfer
of light

within the sky
such

is how we hurt
and heal

september now silenced
the cicadas

and a well
of wind coned

across the ocean
spitting earth

with elemental pace

meanwhile        october has stepped upon the stage
meanwhile        the flowers lean into last light
meanwhile        the sunsets whisper

the crows complain
of october rain

an autumnal fuss
they can’t sustain

ruffled
into rust

dust wind
lifted

drifts
of scraps

puddle
into piles

spill
and clutter

into corners

let us          testify            that everything is an energy
let us          agree             that kindness is a necessity
let us          embrace        the details that call light forth

red the last leaf
clipped undone

and swept
across my path

what will bend
will bend

what will break
will break

scrapescrapescrape sings
the god of all things

and then her silence says
bend

and then her silence says
break

and then her silence says

with a pale parade
of its confetti

of dead leaves
winter has arrived

i am accepting
of all seasons

each
with its bounties

and boundaries
its rewards

and regrets
in his sermon

a priest once said
that life

in the absence
of pain

would be hell

we write the sky
with worthless words

ease erased
by the wings of birds

dead leaves crack
beneath my tread

color dusting
orange gold and red

tonight the rind
of the moon

still shines
and the stars

are also playing
their parts

so do not stand there
and wring your hands

or pound your chest
or howl

at the night

feel
what surrounds you

find
your significant place

in the depth
of things

beauty is built
with the details

that rest all
around you

these last leaves
fall like coins

from a hole
in god’s pocket

this morning
the sun stood

through the mists
of the city

life vibrates
with colors

with roots
that touch

and tap


we skim the surface we quickly move on we miss the point


what is so unrecognizable
about happiness?

what is so impossible
about love?

these delicate bones               these smooth stones
of morning                              of last light

wait wet                                   vesper edged
in the grass fragile                 and meshed

a framework                           cooling and
quick brittled                          tipping

to break                                    into the soft
if not handled                         shrapnel

with care                                 of stars

the moon is a cloud




some                                     some
are rising                              are complex
and familiar                        concrete grey
white tipping                      with a heat and heaviness
off the top                            a dizzying effect
darkening briefly               that spits light and sound
to pour specificity              in an ever shifting distance





in the pale blue sky