awe, humility, hope and a few other things I might notice

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Passing of storms

Is it resilience in the trees when

yesterday the leaves were grey and upside down

even the branches went limp, tossed from the storm as if desperate for water

in spite of the pouring rain.

Today the leaves are shining green with the sun

like a friend in a nearby lounge chair whose hands dangle over the sides.


I have had the privilege of time,

of grassy lawns, even if they are not my own,

of silence seeking and finding

and passing storms.

I have forgotten the words you said and the fear like clothes I used to wear

and I wonder if this is forgiveness.

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still life

It is still life, as if questioning if it were life, if it were a life,

resignation after a complaint, an unbold assertion or

a remnant, pieces torn from something grand like granite statues

quilted now, puffed little packages of memory, but not resembling itself,

stroke stitches stretched, now sagging,

darting around corners of a former personality

between snips of a familiar voice.


It is still a life, a time, a process, going,

unrippled waters, glass bows and boroughs unseen

watching sand bend.


It is a still life, quiet, slow breathing, un event full,

no trace of the impending doom of shadows or bright distant light of other worlds or


but not languished

observed perhaps.

Mona Lisa’s stilled life,

stolen, bargained, negotiated into or out of,


an infinite compromise

paused in action, a view of the moment, of transition, of knowing that the

next step has already been initiated, neutrons are in place and protons bouncing,

still life

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there is no there there

I am creating a map of a place that is no destination or even a path,

it is a way of being, an existence,

more like a rock exists than a life,

or even a body like an ocean has more motion,

activity, action

the choice is to be neutral

is that a choice?

there is a rhythm if you listen very carefully

no melody but certain percussions

landing stations

occasionally decks to lie upon and listen

or docks on the lake when no one else is around or distant

breathing in and out, drops and splashes, nothing hurts

all is unanticipated, unworried

soap trees dangle leaves to wash us but we are already pure

just green


before everywhere was possible

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Sometimes the tea is forgiving

Sometimes the tea is forgiving
I left it on the stove too long for some casual affair,
examining the weather from the large window or
putting away a blanket from my morning nap,
a minor loss of consciousness.

Sometimes the tea is forgiving and
does not burn my tongue
does not turn bitter from its patient but too long waiting,
still can taste sweet or rich at least
for enduring time.