Did you ever hike
To become fond of your pack
Inordinately?
The heart is where the home is
So long as the load is lite.
Did you ever hike
To become fond of your pack
Inordinately?
The heart is where the home is
So long as the load is lite.
Tom Hobbes’ epitaph,
“… the true philosopher’s stone” -
Tomb bumper sticker.
The sun stays longer.
The momentum of winter
Carries the dark chill.
Old Master Laotse
Was surnamed the “Long-Eared” -
Ancestor rabbit.
- (Ref: Kakuzo, Book of Tea, p39)
Cold enough to drift,
Snow blows horizontally -
Carolina pines.
In the air, then down,
Spine against the iced porch deck -
Yanked by my leashed dog.
My children, all three,
Are human beings in full bloom.
The angles rejoice.
Face in the mirror -
All of the old man creases
Are of bright laughter.
Leaves falling through light -
Each agrees when to let go
With sweet surrender.
My skull crashed against
The trunk down across the trail -
We’ve sagged since last spring.
All Thanksgiving day,
Just begging for attention -
Lone red mailbox flag.
Lost on Cold Mountain,
Cliffs, torrents & blasted pines -
I’ve sought for this site.
Rushing to my death
Down a cataract of days
At the speed of breath
Home to multitudes,
Birthing foxes & midges,
Their woods is now logged.
In a loud moment
Breaking waves turn the lake white -
Summer thunder storm.