23 February 2011

The Such-zen by the Painted Rocks
Was a locus of a thought
That conjured a path that is not a path,
Knowledge that is without knowing,
And the easy human reverence for custom,
For the stone by repetition worn.
A human god has tasted salt,
And taken the full measure of an hour under the sun
And thought's necessity,
And seen his reflection in others on life sentence.
Knowing's not belief but the being of oneself without
Incurious devotion.
Desire disquantitied's but a hand outstretched,
Inviting and abiding its nature.

10 February 2011

Myself --memory's dispensation
Makes islands of hours in a present sea,
And an I an archipelago.
What felicity to forget--
To swim in this sea and unselved be!
Demoted from my name,
In a place without tense,
Collecting not recollection, but one sense.

03 February 2011

When in the despite of placid
Fat summer sitting on a day,
I shall recall this armored field,
Brassed with ice, skipping hours
Like lances foiled off its coat
Without a minute's purchase,
Nor laze of humid breath
Upon a hasting glaze.