[the way the clock]
August 20, 2010 § Leave a comment
The way the clock is always
in the same position
when you wake
however long you’ve slept.
The way your head is positioned:
you can only see the clock
and a window which is also a clock
orange and yellow for day
and then closed off by the black.
[shell of the ear]
August 20, 2010 § Leave a comment
The shell of the ear says See…
“But just to enjoy it,…” the morning Said.
And so I watch the green go through the day.
various haiku I just found on the machine…
August 19, 2010 § 2 Comments
[bridge not ferry]
August 17, 2010 § Leave a comment
bridge not ferry
others have come before me,
others will come after me
if only even in thought
The happy horse of my life
August 17, 2010 § Leave a comment
This happy horse of my life that
I ride around in circles
circle like the face of a clock
clock-numbered all the way around this
This circle is the voice in the center
laying out our tasks for us
in time.
Never mind
the saddle and jodhpurs and boots and reins
the walks and trots and canters
and sun and dust and sweat.
This dappled gray horse of my life
whose shoulders unfurl to a rhythm
as I guide her into line behind the
buckskin horse and the bay horse as we
all form a circle at the direction
of the voice in the center
at a walk and a trot and a canter
circling the dust, shadows changing
as we changed hands and turned
serpentines through the center of the circle
the voice silent for once as I led the way.
[me ashore]
August 17, 2010 § Leave a comment
The wave washed me ashore, my legs heavy with sleep.
The wave — the wave, not water but sleep.
I don’t move, so as not to throw off the last bits of it, until I remember the pencil within reach.
And fall back down.
[calendars]
August 17, 2010 § Leave a comment
Calendars run too slow to wear on your wrist
You’d have to hold too still
Don’t move your arm or the sun won’t fall just right, and it has to —
The world will be disjointed if you move, the page not wide enough to hold what it must —
The page flips every thirty midnights, and fans your wrist as you walk by.
Sitting with my back to the snow
August 17, 2010 § 2 Comments
Sitting with my back to the snow which starts at the
door to this table and this bench next to the altar that holds
a dish with money from Costa Rica and India in it
and from here, with a large rock holding it all down next to the
candle next to the
window next to the
door to the snow and the
footprints filling one by
one back to you
and now they are smooth and white.
[the night kitchen]
August 17, 2010 § Leave a comment
entering the night kitchen
the scent of basil
before the light goes on