The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_
DOMINION©
HARMONY
comes a time when what has been
must be set aside
chords, melodies, rhythms that played well once
seem vacant
back to the beginning
each note its own universe
one by one, listening beyond ears
weeks, months maddening for anyone who overhears
until the one finally that resonates
soon a companion is found
then others
and all that was abandoned is replaced
a new universe not so different
all the sounds that happen every day
have parts to play
in a key of their own choosing
centered on that one note
now offering itself
COMMON GROUND
PREVIOUS LIVES
have not the energy to wave goodbye
sort of miss them
sort of don't
even the dust is an illusion
what's left is what can't leave
so here we are
it's no time to argue, and yet
our future is debated by such ghosts
it's a spooky world
reduced to things, their declared values, the profit in trade
and a political football
the field is much larger
it might be too late, but
why not relax and appreciate what's been here all along
and when ghosts ask for more suggestions
ignore them
RULE OF LAW
it was a day of unpleasant surprises
worth mentioning, however
is the dominion of here
right now
there is no other time
your day went like mine?
as to the particulars, well . . .
living is like this everywhere
isn't it?
maybe you paint landscapes or dig ditches
I do the maintenance
for now anyhow, I write
this is my spatula and shovel
there are other surprises
it's worth mentioning that somehow we are impelled
to meet here
in the dominion
MOUNTAINS AGAIN
Tabitha at the foot of the bed
is a Sphinx
the Expressway is deserted
quiet at last
there are no mysteries
we sit without speaking
that's all it is
being here
no memories
just sitting
PURITY
washing dishes
washing clothes
washing hands
so fundamental
towering spires are not made of mud
from which the lotus blossom grows
spires and grand designs come to mind
only to become
dust once again
ROUND ABOUT
mute shadows in the live oak tree
crickets and chickens
nightfall
waiting
black forms in a clarity of stars
pebbles blend to nowhere
not one bird singing
back home again
here is absolutely nothing
its mysterious call has no voice
the same one that knew a time
now forgotten
you who read this
you are that voice
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The Gardener
Santa Clara, CA 95051
theroot_