jack-o-lantern

pain that sticks with you
a friend from childhood
a low grade fever
keeping you just damp enough
with slow erode melancholy
each ear an engine
grinding sand in between

makes me need wild flowers
it gives them purpose
they are not just for decoration
anymore
they are graffiti
total arbitrary compassionate faces

disappointment is combustible
when in contact with relief

ignite these flowers
lightening inside us for a moment
illuminating our dark organs
just enough time to reveal
the houses built there
with reflection roofs
turning the stomach into a sun-doused penny.

reading rilke

our friendship is worth more now
that I don’t know anything with my eyes closed
or without a rationalization
the trees of my home are coming down too fast
showing the baldness of my unknowing.

but I know you—
the way I know climate of my own blood
the texture of my own love breathing
I remember how much I love you
the way you remember the shape of your own name
it’s precious, you see that now,
to know something with your eyes closed
without the luggage of language or our beehive mind
inside is its knowledge a working heart.

zen poem

bird is prophet


as is the whisper tree
olive and gray
with hands like books


wind is the beard of god
wintered and full of song


i am in one moment of flight
we are

the pillow by charles simic

are we still traveling?
whiteness, you come out of a dogs mouth
on a cold day. apron,
i lie within you like an apple.