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.
Many times I’ve pressed the lever
And watched the shot ooze from the spouts
Like mellow honey lather;
Counted breaths to time the shot,
Neglected pangs of hopes and doubts -
Each pull what another’s not.
Pressure varies with the tamp
(Too loose and I’ll fall clear through);
To make each grain hot and damp.
As this stroke wavered, lite or strong,
Sweet or bitter shifted too
In taste buds beside my tongue.
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.
There’s one root difference between asleep & awake:
In “wakeful consciousness” we modify,
sometimes nearly overlay,
our dreams with the input of our senses.
So the difference is:
When asleep we have no conscious sensation or control
of our bodies;
When we wake
our bodies feed us our sense of identity & reality.
We never stop dreaming.
With my two dream dogs
I’m walking down the dream trail
On this bright dream day.
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.
I’ve not been able
To remember to say ‘thanks’
For the vapor pipe.
Leaves falling through light -
Each agrees when to let go
With sweet surrender.
“Bach through an open
dawn window —
the birds are silent”
My skull crashed against
The trunk down across the trail -
We’ve sagged since last spring.
