And like that, overnight, the end of full summer— a tainted glass, rain, that striking first chill. Oh there is something so sad and lovely about these first days of autumn: A distance carries more, an absence weighs, a heart grows blonder, gold as desire, as early larches turning to fire, as bold gestures dreamed of in quiet hours, the night gone still. The night that follows the day, the beauty and terror of the […]
Still here, still, here. How many times did she say it? The practice is yoking together. Sprawled along the floor like I know what I’m doing, Ujjayi, ocean breath, now come and meet this foreign body, a little space, a little more, a common interest we seem to share, now tell me more–
An expanse of hours an evening stretching open like a mouth cool breath no, cold . Watching the gulls amid the old hotels and new, so obviously not homes . Anywhere just anywhere else but here
The body fails in predictable ways but sometimes I am still surprised when someone is and then is not
The late-July breeze, distinctive in ease, a quiet morning slipping by, I wake and say I’m here! I’m here! somehow still a fear of loss, despite the day unfolding like a lawn chair, predictable, light-weight . To have, to hold– a leaf-dappled scene a girder on the building, perforated at regular intervals and the word EMPTY over and over, is it a warning? or a confirmation . There is so much space inside these days, so little tethering […]
The late-July breeze, distinctive in ease, a quiet morning slipping by, I wake and say I’m here! I’m here! somehow still a fear of loss, despite the day unfolding like a lawn chair, predictable, light-weight .
another day box-like in progression, predictability, oh inflexibility of time– I’d rather an ocean I’d rather that ocean sound that imperfect rhythm constant yet somehow revelatory I know the pilgrim changes it’s not the pilgrimage per se but things are always more tolerable somewhere else
Everything defined by space, in gestalt, they say figure -ground reversal, emphasizing that negative space, sometimes a new image pops out, at the loss of the original– seeing it another way it cannot be re-seen . here the gingko indifferent sky glimpsed through scaffolding at angles, is it contained, constrained? somehow the mind says no . but what does the mind know? a morning breeze tinged with the sea lifts all hopes but sometimes morning […]
Rain starting to come in the open window the day says get to the point and July as a whole– I don’t know, it is somehow insubmersible . a stream of ragged people go by with unclear words but that tone is unmistakable . water beads up on the glass, imperfect, but linear– . and so, this month goes on
colder this side of the pass rain and the threat of rain, almost worse i think for being imagined, and you couldn’t imagine the things i can think in the vastness of a room
OPTIONAL POETRY 