My teacher appeared to me
in the midst of my grief for him.
I was on a bench in a park in the
city. Buses were coughing by and
small shops were opening. And
since my teacher no longer has
hands, he swept a bird in my face
to break up my sadness. And since
he no longer has a mouth, the light
off the windows twenty stories up
drifted through the leaves. I said,
“I miss you.” And I thought I heard
him say, “Do everything while you’re
here.” Then it began to mist, though
the sun was shining. As if the Uni-
verse were crying at what it does to
us in order to keep going. Just then,
a child lost a ball. It bounced my
way. Now my teacher was in the
bounce and I thought I heard
him say, “Enough of this.
Pick up the ball and live.”
under the guise of living well, we rush to seize our happiness…
inquiry for today~ what will you miss today through complacency, forgetting or self-doubt?
Nights and days and days and nights,
hundreds of them slipping through my fingers.