Category: Yoga
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Buddhista 1
I will buy for you a cedar box, red, fragrant when rain falls, broad and steady, and plant it near the crocuses and the daffodils that were tossed among fresh sprouts of day lilies, and in time, that will sleep under the vigils of June’s deep clematis and our red-then-green- then-red-again maple. And upon it…
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What love could learn from fungus if it would only listen
I wish you could spread in that restless, vindictive, ambling way — to not be held back, to spew spores whenever someone tries to uproot you, sloppy, lazy enough to reproduce anywhere. How I wish you did. It would all be so much easier if you did. ——— Something along the lines of Hafiz.
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In the middle of the night
How you pull me down and up at once. In you I see ancient, raw days when I brought something polished and fine and you, face down, eyes darting, question my sincerity which I prove again and again, for now.
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An exercise
Stones are easy to stack when they have been split and sanded. The challenge is to balance uneven ones, those shaped by nature’s peculiar whims, or those left to their own devices — like feral children bent on revolt, intent on upsetting our day’s order. They insist that the stacker sit down to watch how…
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Love like a river
Even the meek swell with water running down. Come now, spill yourself into our long water. Let it trail you down over gullies, under arched branches in its passive rush. Feel the undercurrent, what draws the flow beyond eyes, buoying each awkward twig, tripping up glossy stones. How I long to know it by heart…
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When the cold wind blows
Does it startle you, shake you from oblivion, draw you to attention, to your fear? Or do you turn away huddled, covering your head and shoulders, shrugging to save all the warmth you can in that last instant before you are swimming in the frigid air, overtaken by a wave capsizing, ripping even your feet…
Poems from in between 