the body is a tree
the mind a clear mirror
we must strive to polish it, hour by hour
and let no dust collect

memories of bergamot become oolong
and the forest burns before winter
shedding its skin and turning to slumber
in time with the wobble of the Earth

is it enough to want one small thing?

because that's all we are

some times life feels so fleeting
(longmoments now past, how far away they seem, how tiny)
some times life is hard to define
some times i can not believe what has happened
and what i have only imagined

hold it palm up so the light catches every wrinkle
so you can see every detail of its texture
stretch your fingers out straight
, turn it over

i am a cup; i am nothing
i am what was in the cup and what will be
and what cups are not and how cups are not

the body is not a tree
the mirror has no stand
fundamentally, not one thing exists
where then can dust land?

here all is space and darkness

as i walk out into the forest
my senses erase as i walk out
into the forest my path fades
(blades erase and green still
whereonce sunlight old yellow
glimmer was licked cheek swal
low, you might follow, finger
on the edge (a light hill, an
erasable face in the bushadow
leaves and comes just circumn
avigable, stone slow wondrous
grey in the moon mantis fog a
frog preying soon the gloom i
spoke not lest insects overco
me or undergo, or or witherwe
nt or weather bent, you might
youu know in eye of crow be c
aught or shown and come to own
the very crown that lied upon
th head of one who knew what
path the jungle home lead i
n to sun and out of lone


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