Asked if he practices the art of meditation, the old man smiled and said, I don’t know. If I think I am meditating, am I?
It’s not a question of loss or gain,
but of the neighbor’s healthy lettuce;
how many veins and folds it must contain
of all that’s best for us; just as the less
there is to test in us, the more
the rest of us, remains.
Recently Banned Literature, June 29, 2014
Irises alive in winter-wet ground, mud-stained fingers,
a bucket of aromatic, tender-green weeds,
and other familiar dreams,
as gladness is presence attentive to things.
Recently Banned Literature, February 1, 2015
Tire patched, tea done, sun out, wet lawn,
gray cat, wide hat, like that, imagined.
Recently Banned Literature, January 25, 2016