A phone call from an old friend.
Just when you needed it.
The sound after a snowfall.
A perfect peach.
A moment of sheer confidence.
Finding the right words.
Knowing the answer.
when I call and no one arrives…. when I doubt and the flame burns brighter…..when I listen and the silence grows….
inquiry for today~ reflect with the full moon without commotion…..be lured toward sky….
I live here in a village house without
all that racket horses and carts stir up,
and you wonder how that could ever be.
Wherever the mind dwells apart is itself
a distant place, Picking chrysanthemums
at my east fence, I see South Mountain
far off: air lovely at dusk, birds in flight
returning home. All this means something,
something absolute: whenever I start
to explain it, I forget words altogether.
Color infusing autumn chrysanthemums
exquisite, I pick dew-bathed petals,
float them on that forget-your-cares
stuff. Even my passion for living apart
grows distant. I’m alone here, and still
the winejar soon fulls cups without me.
Everything at rest, dusk,: a bird calls,
returning to its forest home. Chanting,
I settle into my breath. Somehow, on this
east veranda, I’ve found my life again.