Stay Close to the River

Look!

I built a shrine to you. Right here.

Right

here.

At the end of all your brave and brilliant quests for something better,

I'll still be right here.

Right

here.

Although you've forgotten. You've forgotten to lean close when you weep,

when you weep from your lilted loneliness.

Touch our hand to your cheek and feel the river that has run through a million billion wondrous earth bodies -- this majestic membrane that masks our starlit eternal glory.

Such is the game of remembering.

If you somehow lose the link to this poem, don't worry. There's a billion more where this came from.

Just look around you.



Stay close, Dear One.


Stay close to the river.

The Art of Opening a Door

The final approach is most important

the seconds before skin meets brass

timing is everything

and that twist must be subtle yet firm

sometimes feeling a slight tug and then that satisfying snap! of the little lock undoing itself for your entry

now the big question, does it open in or out?

not to repeat any of those embarrassing moments
exiting gas stations or walking into restaurants

those painful nose-against-glass
soft shoulder against stubborn wood fiascos
that echo through your mind like
cannon fire many painfully self-reflective
minutes after.

and now, mindful to remove your hand at just the
right moment to encourage the proper velocity
of hinged wood sailing away from door jam home plate.

if done properly,
you should have the benefit of inertia in your favor
slightly propelling you forward.

Now it's just a matter of strolling...

A topic covered in-depth in previous chapters.

Speechless, Among the Flowers

Speechless,
among the flowers
until I too
unfold into
Pure
Light

Playing Catch Up

Monks,

with their one hand clapping

and gong-like silence


witty as hail storms

on Spring mornings


sit,

open minded


like

a Gershwin

or a Ganges


flowing into

uncharted territory


waiting for the

rest of us


to catch up.