The way some firefliesHide within the grassFaking the fluorescent signs Of cold heat, I waitedTo possess you, to consume you Entirely, absolutely, as gravityBends star light, or vines relax Over the necks of grapes,This desire springs from the soil. When you come and go, I feel Like a burnt offering
Echolocation
I want to find youWith my sound, empty and Marvelous, in the void, givingYou shape with nothing else Except the idea of your molecules.Every jewel, each note, contains The reflection of all the others.
Mindful of Time
Some time ago—I don’t remember how long because I didn’t think to keep track—a couple of mourning doves came to inspect a flowerpot that hangs from the ceiling of my porch. They went back and forth, inspecting the flowerpot, for a day or two, and then they left. A few weeks later they were back […]
I will not be the last man to tell you
your smile,contaminated with purity, contains the sun, moon, and starsIf I were a patriarch, I would order incenseto be burned before it.
Lord Shiva
we have traveled ten thousanddreamless mileswithout each other, in the past,present, and future, in unknown realms, unguarded, in a dungeon of thorns,by both spirits and men. Each morning, I sit in envyof those who knew you rising from your bed,to place a garlandof Datura fruits around my neck
Twin Flame
Search as I will, I cannot find the cause.Reunited with you, it doesn’t seem to matter, so holy and instinctual is this passion, the hummingbirds bring us offerings of flowers
“The Extraordinary Life of His Holiness the Fourteenth Dalai Lama: An Illuminated Journey”
“As I have often said, I am a simple Buddhist monk. Nothing more, nothing less.” This is a famous catchphrase by His Holiness, which had it been from the lips of anyone less than a holy figure, would probably have turned into a meme on social media a long time ago. In more world-weary eyes, […]
A Graveyard Meditation
I know the forests are burningto the charnel ground, and probably, there is little that can be done about it now Yet sometimes the best medicine is a mind of not knowing, all that has been writtenon those silken scrolls, the inner alchemy of illicit love Or why the Nasamonians required brides to have intercoursewith many men […]
At a Red Light
There are those who only have their name to give as thanks. Have you seen a two year old boy hand his papa an orange peel? That is what I remember, and Barry’s eyes, too, oddly sweet, gleaming with oil, glazed and losing. Admitting with his palm, thirty of the filthiest cents I have ever seen, A sort of proof, […]