FOLDED ECHO©
MINDFULNESS
an orb of gnats dances the evening sun
suspended mist
a freeway of twilight traffic
headlights blinking
herds felons towards the Christmas chair
grand Gothic cathedrals celebrating mass
willows in the breeze
ants surface through a rotted board
in our back yard
grand mother's lace
holes in my stocking
the whole of it defies reason, good taste, and the rules of writing
though the cadence remains
yes, it all seems funneled towards a grand conclusion
such a conspiracy
gondolier on a Venetian raft
floating towards the moon
pale, suffused light
Danube days
impressionist dreams
as it all recedes
for a moment there is no horizon
the moment of attention
JUST A LITTLE WALK
I am nothing if not mist
laughter unbounded
an escaped echo
whew!
transcendent stuff
say the meditators
our high school principal was
a pre-Beatles Neanderthal man
Ginsberg tromped him
Mingus said, Ah Um: Goodbye Pork Pie Hat
get your cameras out
Slaughter on Tenth Avenue: ah, World War Three!
nuclear weapons, asteroids: on cue
palms of Hawaii will drown
lava in gassho
founding fathers and mothers arrange lace on a Bauhaus table
work never ends
neither does breathing
until it does
DAYLIGHT
no matter what, there is always the next day
maybe a habit of thought
and today. maybe another
folding rice paper blinds
no investigation would be complete without forgetting them
the same question is here all the time
same simple answer:
what didn't go away
can't pin it down?
whatever it is isn't
yet right here
sit with this for awhile
enjoy the day
MYSTERY ISLAND
demarcations from this moment to the next
events are
so useful
and misleading
yet how else would intellect deal with what is beyond comprehension
we know this much
but not all
never all
how it nags
what could it be?
under close inspection it disappears
where does it go?
where did it come from?
silence
the sun rises
did it always?
take vitamins
why not?
mow your lawn
or hire me to do it
study the market
invest in education
all so necessary
for what?
the question nags, though it's uninterested
won't answer and doesn't care
why is it still there?
underneath the bank statement
what does the bank know?
PUMP HANDLE DAYS
OK then, the moon
bright tonight
robed in clouds
a fly on the venetian blind
now grooming its legs
might recall such handles
in its great, great grand generations
slowly rising, with trembling wings
so sensitive, these reminders of the gateway
goodbye concrete boundaries
laugh with me
I am your winter doves
on loan from a summer breeze
floating, iridescent humming birds
in their care free days
