dream factory of night

dream factory of night
on the assembly line
till 3 am

quota made

you can relax


***

my favorite experience / reading a poem

my favorite experience
reading a poem

the words unlocking
a door in my heart

i wasn't aware
was there




**

Poem - nothing else / matters

the trees

all the tips
every twig

and branch 

white knots 

then suddenly 

everywhere 

full of 

blossoms

the sky 

splendid

like rose
watercolor

or blue satin

i forget my 

phone 

i drive back 

to see 

white petals

shaking 

and waving

entrancing

under 

the evening

sky

nothing else

matters

****

May 3rd

Minnetonka

Poem - who could know

let things rest gently tonight
remember you don't have to do or go anywhere
you can just sit and even stretch out

read a poem or part of a book
some music in the background if you want
free of other things you rarely stop thinking

you don't even need to do most of them all the time
most of your tasks an extension of worry
besides in a day or two it might snow

day of snow in later april
who'd know that
who could know


==

Osseo

no objections because
you cannot say no to it
this fond thing river of time
sometimes cold deep or slow
oftentimes rushing sparkly fast
each of us plunked into the stream

i tell stories as if i was a captain
and i had a boat but i go recklessly
from swirl to swirl just like a leaf
no objections because this is life
made so sweet because
of such uncertainty and wonder



***

Out in Osseo
4.15.17

i look at my mind
who i reason i am is irrelevant when centered

seeking to be protection
the order of my constructed thoughts

make a prison or a fiery bed
reeking with regrets and resentments

i look at my mind
and see it is like a cloud

if i admire it as the height of highest illusions
lit by fancy and emotions

as radiantly as a cloud by the sun
and just as substantial as a mist

with no physical foundation or reality
then all is well


***

in the fields of Osseo

stamped from a similar clay
the tilt of the head
the dress
the smile

in a previous time
we parted company
you going home
to a small safe room
to a small town
to mom and dad

this time just seeing
the picture by the lake
snippets of your wishes
naive at heart

an innocent blown here
then somewhere else
blown by the world
that yearns to be deceived


---

this morning at dawn a clean slate
i can make room for whatever i want

the pond has swaying branches over it
overcast with just a hint of dusty blue

i turn within and feather my own mind
then see each bird outside looking for seeds

this morning at dawn a clean slate
i can make room for whatever i want


**

the air
distances
hushed

first
grey
then

haze
like cloudy
glass

or how
memories
form

spring
rigging
blossoms
and buds

soon to be
hatching
out

of still
brown
meadows



****

it is what you do
take a birthday

in a new year
keep taking risks

on this day
celebrate where you are

on this day
think gee-whiz

the stuff i've done
the places i've been

what is in store
the best will be

the very best

impossible to ignore
after all the rest


___

for soubia
4/1/17

how we make our loved ones suffer
for what we think or call brave & good

but really just punishment and rage
directed at ourselves acted through them

mercy turn away from any thought up necessary things
you must do towards others to discipline them

avoidance of misery is heaven on earth
if only we would stay within our own circle


*

minnesota
the second day of spring 2017

show me your horses
your motorcycles and fish
show your guns and boats

on a sunny day by aspens
on a bright day by maples
on a summer's day on the lake

sports music and laughter
going out on the town or staying in
family is central sarcasm essential



**

when i thought of you
in the next room
i heard a spoon rattle in an empty cup

there my mind stopped
and i felt such regret
and sadness



**

what could be the last snow
of the winter is here

it is gentle and falls
my new neighbor walks heavily upstairs

they stomp from room to room

i'm told that everything
is a mirror




*

they took a road
and laid it over a charming stream
on one side the water splits into two
where birch trees sway and a rabbit runs

the dream of the undisturbed stream
defying our right of way that cannot be undone
mirror like glassy and calm in response
to plans or demands

do you yearn for a stream
from childhood you knew by heart
similarly crossed by traffic or muted
by complexes of houses

do you remember how a space
was a filled

a field a farm a river a forest


^

we all know the place i write of
your hands at a table
a crumpled note or a magazine

your father home soon
a buzz just coming off
from whatever you have

rationed by you mother
who is working upstairs
your phone heavy with texts

you go through being
smugly satisfied warm with
anticipation and deep anger

i am a phantom you filled
with desire and rejection
yearning hope and mania

but you're not here you're there
more real than here in the place
i imagine and write of

noted who is narrating
the scene begins

to pale and fade
only my selfishness remains

the great engine of desire
drove us both off a cliff
then beyond and beyond this

where even my remembering
how you might be right now
is an exercise in blind vanity

no nevermind dear nevermind
we live and new lovers and loves

when the phone rings or
a bouquet of roses appear
dear nevermind

did you ever cry
because you couldn't save

what you see as
a perfect sunset

love going
is like that

there are billions of suns
and as many loves



***

i'm suffering from samsara
but i'm not broken

there is nothing to break
except my illusions

saying conserve us
we're the spice of your life



**

mother cries at the gate
she holds your hand through the bars
but she is going back

it will be a long journey then
to be here
even to these bars

these bright lights
these painfully shining linoleum floors

as two separate points
you get farther away from mother
your mother gets father away from you

who knows when a journey
might bring you to her
or her to you

you stay at the gate
after mother is taken away
dots her tears on the floor

like a path
to another locked and closed door


**

hands moving in hotel rooms
drinking wine signing stationary
wish you were here glad they are not

vista outside of a perfect white beach
wind blows through the room
everything neat and paid for

from the 40th floor you see everything
everything is possible and exciting
either considering to jump or eat dinner

balanced in hotel room you know well
that one motion starts another everything
from that first perceptible accident


**

pictures of hotel rooms
of hand signals
of outfits
of cars
of restaurants
of drinking
of beaches
it never ends

there is no narrative
only assumptions
of what is gracious
of what is stylish
of what is attractive
of what is fancy
of what is desirable

the mummery continues
wants and desires
wrapped layer on layer
until the mind is paralyzed
the true self unrecognizable

but finding true self or clarity
was never the object of this

behold my beauty
and despair




**

because i was dead
i could see everywhere
i knew everything
but i thought back

to when i was alive
when i fished at night
i seemed to be pulling
fish out of a starry sky

the boat moved
over the moon
an orb that winked

the great deep
blackness of time
i easily conquered

the only break
in this

were the fish
writhing and dying
gasping to death



#

you can find me
i am in the sky
just beyond swaying leaves
i am in the fields

if you are happy
i am here too
all kinds of happiness

i am in the sky
in the fields

by the lakes
you can find me
in noon and in dusk
golden light
apple colored light

if you are happy
i especially appear
all kinds of joy

white ice
melting
tan grasses

i am in the sky
in the fields
by the lakes


*

Osseo MN

living in an age

where poetry is just a thing

like a dirty note

gas receipt or mattress tag

*

there is a picture of you
in your car

a selfie
why in the car no reason

we drive
in our cars we sit in them

you are in
your car smiling

a selfie
why are you smiling

no reason
we smile when we take selfies

sitting in
our cars showing something



*

One day Jesus was walking with his students, and they passed by the carcass of a dog.
The students said, "How this dog stinks!"
..But Jesus said, "How white are it's teeth!"


"Revival of the Religious Sciences"
Abū Ḥāmid Muḥammad al-Ghazālī
11th Century





**





http://ghazali.org/ihya/english/ihya-vol3.htm

the devil is an innocent
marred only by a kind of pride

i am hard at work dreaming
aim to outdo even him

my fallen nature burnishes
dullness into brass

but the devil knows
all my plans will fail

and only one place
i will return to

even beyond the damned
and his plantation hell

so the devil urges me on
do your best always

doing perpetuates
more doing

the ultimate sin


*

The man in the wilderness asked of me,
How many strawberries grow in the sea?
I answered him, as I thought was good,
As many red herrings grow in a wood.

-- From an annotation in "The Whole Duty of Man" (1733)

don quixote
knight of the sorrowful face

el caballero de la triste figura

hero to those
who are out of their prime
but still dream
with a youthful heart

for true imagination
and inspiration
never age

they cannot

highest flights of fancy

these come from
some other place
beyond our own sky

a place with its own
stars and loves
compelling



*

magic for this day
you

loved

nobody like you
in the whole wide world

people smile
you make hearts go boom

where you'll go
what stories you'll tell

finding out
your life that will be neat

go and look

climb the mountains
see the views

take this love with you

nobody like you
in the whole wide world


**

For Phoebe Lee
1.16.17

Driving Home

- 8 that night
clear all the way
to the horizon

only clue to how far
was a red full moon
coming up

crisp and clear
serene beyond any
notion of news





**

(reprise)

dark night

flying geese

you could hear their
in and out takes of
breath flapping in unison

nothing more
needs to be known
or remembered




**

the view of a street
of the yellow facade
of the 2 flight-up
side-by-side row
bright brick houses

the view of a street
brave now in a
sunshine in december
light becomes stronger
gloss yellow wood
on banisters with red
corbels

the view of a street
hesitation commitment
rattle of plates
always was going on
one or two in love
or out of love

brave sun
the view of a street

---

13th ave ne
Minneapolis

is there any real
don quixote?

he was the first
gentleman to set
foot on the moon

everyone knows this
just as we all know
his famous mustache

his daring eye
his fiery glance
glare gleam like a lance

his genuine weeping

we know him
for how he was
sad and thought
chivalry was dead

reading drove him mad

as we know him
for how he saw
beautiful angels in
billboards and

heard heaven
in the whispering flight
of geese

{midnight i see
12 geese gently breathing
as they flew north
into speckles of snow

did they have
a warm place to go
passing over the
brightly lit holiday
convenience store

passing overhead
just higher than the
streetlamps

you could hear their
in and out takes of
breath flapping in unison

nothing more
needs to be known
or remembered}

morning at the park
you can hear cars
touching their brakes
just a bit as they
go down the hill
halfway, at walter

the sun is out
and it is perfect
like a spring day
december 28th
san francisco

couples in love
or not in love
walk up and down
talking or taking
selfies

young or old
to be in love
at duboce park

sunny warm
san francisco
in the morning


12 28 16

whatever i see
i am

my heart is filled
with longing and wonder

if i could be
in all places in all times

each house
or natural feature's history

i feel i have
lived in or just missed

and how wonderful
it was


12  28 16

i sleep in the forest of my mind
its a nice big forest full of things

as big as i want it to be
i've lost track of all the trees

but every one i see
i remember and i recognize

each one is a memory
a feeling as sense of something

but i started out in warm space
clear and without need of any marker

no mountain top or valley
with wilderness uncountable



**

snow ice
i drive on the way

the river
tree silhouettes

move fast
over silver backdrop

see how
curtains of steam

almost like
phantom mountains

cross the
mississippi river

from one
factory to another

the sun
shining hard on water

like dreams
unfold and bring us



**

the last time
i saw you
on your way
to dying

you were
all scheduled
as if going
on a long trip

preparing to
be totally
swept away

with some idea
how imminent
yet not knowing
exactly when

i said i'd
be back in
two days but
i left town

you gentle
a bit distracted
happy and in
constant pain

your face
nearly hairless
sharp and focused

inside with a
burning intensity
your whole body

never to see you
to not see you
after the big change

and laugh about
farts pretty girls
poetry or endings

i said i'd
be back in
two days but
i left town

your living room
the positions
of the 2 side tables

computer and books
recliner papers
fill up my imagination

just like pretty girls
fart jokes poetry and
endings

you really knowing
me just barely
comprehending
you letting go

for latif

----------

Orgyen Menla Medicine Buddha

OM AH HUM VAJRA GURU PEMA TO TRENG TSAL BHEKANZE RADZA SARWA SIDDHI PALA HUM AH 

let things
not find their
mark

through no
effort other than
not minding

neither a
denier nor a
battler

even a fool
can learn to
let go



**

i wish you well
for 2017

let it be
encouraging

happy
like a tune

like when
you are

singing

on the top
of a mountain

feeling
fine and free

seeing
everything

from high
high up

what i am doing
forging dreams
encouraging flights of fancy

believe
anything can be
that can be



@

                           for evan and fonta

visiting from out of town

at my friend's house
we sing the "throwing things out
the second story" song
as we toss the christmas tree
out the open picture window

then we clean up all the dry
pine needles

something of a family
tradition

the twins are 4 and his daughter is 7
smart happy kids
who remember my
improvised ad hoc yoga moves

do the abe lincoln memorial pose!
do the eiffel tower!
do the thinker!

i sing for them 'bat in my face'
and make paper boats
read them picture books
play the piano

i remember how it was
when my kids were small
a forever forever forever
contained cosy and small

it was obvious
we'd always have the books we read
as nearby as each other

how could anyone
be gone for long at all


______

Late December
Clayton Street
San Francisco
2016

not knowing every little thing
makes each moment what it is

beautiful awesome confusing
elated heart breaking funny

we know some of the shapes
some of the shapes

ultimately what they do or act
is how you'd like them to be


*****

Christmas Day
2016

on christmas night
i watch my dad wash the dishes
he takes his time

cold for napa
below 38 the lights of the valley
twinkle

the rug is squared
extra leaf added to the table
i did homework on

it comes to me
in this warm bright room

we don't know
where we are going but
you do know who you love




12/24

there's nothing to it more
and nothing's known for sure

other than two
on a plane to sacramento

watching a video on a phone
holding hands



*

in the midwest
i give a shell with my christmas cards
to new coworkers and new friends

keepsakes from my favorite beach in Huntington
southern california
where the waves are always warm

it occurs to me how much i miss
seeing that beach like i did everyday
picking up shells at dawn

but how wonderful it is
to have so many new friends
i can give a Christmas shell too



*

a dream my whole life
was floating on a pool of water

each part like a small bit
of leaf or wood assembled artfully

other peoples lives and mine
mingled on gently bobbing waves

the water itself was clear
and had no bottom


*

i dream about the car
all night long

about the heater core
if it is leaking

if the head gasket
has a crack

i really know
so little

still i dream
of answers

beyond my expertise
shiny cars



*

i keep digging through lines here
as if i will find you

but you are gone and it has been
a long time

the fond time i wish to recreate
is not the time it was

and you in real life barely remember
this person fair

because there have been so many
more clever and appealing

but with some once loved loved true
love goes on

even though the beloved is so worldly
even cares not


**

you understand
when they talk about
turning over your body
for fame comfort or glory

some who believe or say
they have not done any trade
quid pro quo for this or that
allowing to be handled

those are the corrupt
the ones that have given
but say they did not
they prey on the innocent

what may separate one
is not to revel in degradation
to say trades like this are good
or we want anything like it

as for redemption
no one knows possibly
or in action the right conviction

if you can
give refuge
and ask for nothing

 ___

no drama other than me
saying i found the moon
in a matchbox and then lost it
and i cried



*

sinking or rising up
stone Buddhas in the grass

bobbing like rafts
in this sea of imaginings

i could be moved
be blissful or bemused

however i see it
i see you too

looking at the Bodhisattvas
surrounded by the grass


___

for Walter
12.18.16

be inescapably beautiful
by loving yourself completely
by loving yourself competently
by doting on you most first

paradoxically you'll find
this wise selfishness
if you follow through
more love for all

your beauty will refine
your beauty will be bright
those around you too
become beautiful like you


<

Bass Lake
12/18

i choose to see you
in a certain way
that renders me blind

thinking this scene
person or face for you
complements best

but it is a cover
or a binding i foist
defacing your essence

me lacking the courage
or having such ruinous vanity

embellishing what should be respected
or tampering with innocent and fine



888

i know people
i cannot see
because i insist
on i i i


X

someone far away
like a cinematic trick
they're right sized then
one day for some reason
you only see their image

day after day an icon
getting smaller and smaller
as it shrinks it gets brighter
finer in detail and then
blurrier and blurrier

someone far away
sighing and hoping
winning or losing
going on with each day
alone or with others
for some reason not here



**

snow snow
falling snow

covering gently
everything below

sleeping fields
woods and lake

any tracks
you will make

all under this
blanket of white




*

December 2016
Bass Lake

they may write a thousand things
but do not know the words
or stop to feel anything

would someone be brave enough
to turn a verse they wrote themselves
or be any kind of a man

i'd say chivalry here is lacking
but not every one is dull some do know
a modestly without all the act

even make a verse or two
show in lines some convincing
of the appreciation of you

how you stir a contemplation
of mystery and of sweetness where
even the impossible can come true

but the lines now are many
mystery or sentiment wear out
with such dwelling

last verses done with some regret
for lack of skill or time or bravery
if only a poet could be as true as cupid




@

our nights are unequal
like many i have darker ones

some sleep lightly
with any stirring or
horror or regret
of what they did

they might be
empty or have
no mind

nothing is awaiting them
as the road narrows
at appointed time

our nights are unequal
we are who we are and become

i resist taking
the midnight vote

counting the
stoplight
as it goes
green yellow red
over and over

i sleep
and dream
of a private room

a pale bowl
and a yellow spoon


*

                                        

           snowflake

                   snowflake                                                snowflake

              snowflake                                                       snowflake                                  snowflake

          snowflake                                           magic snow flake

             snowflake                             snowflake                                               snowflake

                                   snowflake                                                               snowflake              

                           snowflake                               snowflake                                   snowflake        

                  YOU             

___________________

to support the assertion

you can catch the magic snowflake

on the tip of your nose

if you practice

or snow falling perfectly
all night as you dream

the heated sideboards
tapping and pinging

waking up you may think
what beautiful flakes

how does this go
such perfectly falling snow

each signifying a world
a person a place or a dream

or signifying nothing
unspoken simple

absolute serene


_____

form an alliance with your self

by being tolerant internally

extend the courtesy

you automatically consider

towards others

towards you

you'll find

more beauty inside and

outside this way

the world more like home

a warm place you can live in

77

i entered knowing
now i am not knowing

i came in clear
now i may not be seeing

i can reset my surrealism
as easily as i can wallpaper a room

i aim to ensnare
some force
inscrutable truth

i was a gopher on a bike
but now i am a valiant widow

my son is my consciousness
killed on a crusade

now the crusade is a lit window
and cycle is a moth in sky

open to suggestions
any proposition
is beloved

will blow me to salvation

yet how much real irony
or tragedy
contained in a play

i act in and direct

i came in with paper
i do not know where it has gone

it may be this paper
i write on now

i'm waiting for beautiful poetry
to come into the room

but i have too much
voltare
erasmus and kant in my head

my supposed humble being
is so loud in knowingly unknowing

poetry walks by and sights
she goes to another cafe

my forced gentleness
i have become a brute

crusading
wallpapering and
widowing myself

but i will never give up

the idea of somehow
transcending

despite all of this

no one is separated
from grace


*

home is a place
where you work on you vices

home is a place
where you burnish your virtue

home is
a place for the heart
                  the mind
                  the mind
                  the mind

home is unforgotten

home is love

home is trust

where you can be naked
and cook or watch TV

where you can be unclothed
and natural

with a lover

home
is a happy forever

home
is balanced

home is
a place for the heart
                  the mind
                  the soul
                  the self

                  the now
                  the later
                  the best

                  a sigh
                  understanding
                  a hug

you begin gently moving
through shapely & self curated scenes
full of luxury and sometimes terror
all the mechanisms of sleep

blind force of a lucid dreamer
who says these grand things that ebb and flow
are true with no more permanence of a fog
money and fortunes blisses and curses

beautiful wayward dreamer
who can wake as soon as they wish
into clarity and clear light never sullied
the brightest of all bright selves

like a perfect high star
that never sets over an ocean
full of tossing sleepers and seekers
rafts of their own making through nights

you with a host of other angels
saying awake! urging dreamers
in imagined darkness to shake off
our peculiar toilsome sleep

iii

wondering about home
between flakes of snow

or will these fields tell
hush hush is that a sign

or a bell from a church
open tonight late

i see the light in you
then follow it wondering

all transitory here
like other time zones

other cities and fields
full of signs and people

other church bells dusk
wondering about home

hush hush is that a sign
or a bell


---

Mmm! I BURN

What to Look for During a Season of Sickness

can it be found
can it be lost

the self
the highest sense

for a moment
you can play

pretend that
you are separated

but in the
long view

you were
merely at play

like a child
can make

anything a
harmless idyll


77777

a winter jacket ordered
for winter boots

pockets on the inside
and outside of jacket

the lake has ice
that ebbs a bit but grows

when it seems
nothing is alive

some hardy squirrels
start their day

they go on duty
find things to bring home


000

Bass Lake

if you could live forever
you'd be even more confused
than you are now



11

today no snow
no grey

silver puddles
green grass

everything living
making life

shining

with only now
in mind


---

Bass Lake

after much practice
i see what i really am

two hands two feet
two eyes and a big mouth



&&

how do your dreams turn out
as good as dreaming them i hope

when you know where you are
every dream comes true

when you're in the stream
all that comes is keenly true


!!

Bass Lake

day after thanksgiving
slate grey sky

water goes drip drip
from balconies

new wiper blades
for the truck

a few clumps of snow
rolled by my son

they're the only snow
left as a snowman

snow figure
looks like a bunny


000

Bass Lake

thankful on this day

thankful on this day
snow slush
a store being open
for that last can
of yams or pie crust

thankful for family
friends and even
bad drivers or
my annoying cousins

we're all part
of a grand planned
or miraculous wow
just in time ain't
it nice thank-
goodness


11.24.16

A Recipe for Orange Sweet Potatoes

2 twelve ounce cans of frozen orange juice 1 forty ounce can of cut sweet potatoes in light syrup 1/4 cup dry sherry 2 cups walnuts (whole or broken into halves) Oven preheated to 350 degrees Open the sweet potato can and drain the liquid from the sweet potatoes. Put the potatoes in a glass baking dish (I used a dish that was 14 inches by 10 inches) in one even layer. Then pour over the potatoes the two cans of frozen orange juice. If the orange juice is still frozen, or semi-frozen, just let the orange juice melt over the sweet potatoes. Add 1/4 cup dry sherry and mix in the 2 cups of walnuts. Cover the dish with plastic wrap and let it marinate for at least an hour, longer if you want the walnuts to be softer. You can either stick it in the fridge, or just leave it out at room temperature. After marinating, take off the plastic wrap and cover the dish with aluminum foil. Bake in a pre-heated oven at 350 degrees for about 40 minutes. While baking, see if the liquid covering the sweet potatoes is bubbling. Then they are done. Watch out, the dish is very hot when it comes out of the oven. Serves 4-6 depending on how much they like sweet potatoes. I keep asking my mom for this recipe every Thanksgiving and Christmas the past few years, so I figure if I put it up here, I'll have it when I need it for Christmas dinner. I know if I don't have this dish at Thanksgiving, I won't feel like I had Thanksgiving at all.

danny
he's on the hill

loves the snow

i see his silhouette
as he has a fine time

living in a rich
imaginary world

conquering a frozen peak
or making snow fort

when he sees my
shape in the window

he figures i'm
saying hello & waves

i wave back
when i'm really worried

something
might happen to him

as if life was a terrible
series of events

because it is not
i know this in my heart

snowy night is
a sparking wonder world

full of magic
that conquers all care

even from this
worrisome mind


77

Bass Lake

mind does not wander
scenery in a globe of snow

the consciousness free
unworried

we count flakes
until satisfied

this snow was always here
will be forever


---

Bass Lake

a dream of dreams do you have

a dream of dreams do you have
don't trade it in for anything less
or cheapen it with just or no

if it is a good one
you'll be sorely tested
then eventually changed

you'll become
both subject and object
you will be the dream aware

and as that dream realized
you'll be able to see the hope
of other dreamers

you'll realize they can see
who think they cannot see

you'll understand
those unknowing do know

then be like a light to them
even cry a tear or two
which be like

a stairway to heaven

00

Snowy Day

11/22/16

snow has no memory
it falls swiftly
and is

the night has no regrets

glittering snowflakes
from so high up
billow and fly

dance and then land

a warm room
a fire and a book
the radio murmuring

chapter ended

a beautiful night


----

Bass Lake

a poem in a paper boat
is not different than anything else

but suffice to say
you had everything else

then was smashed

the most beloved thing
i could ever give

a poem in a paper boat




*

i have no refuge here
in this temporary
sweet affair

not in my heart
nor even in you

we're the same this way
no place to call home
no certainty

only in letting go
into bright emptiness
do i know

there isn't even any time
or any unfinished business

there is no separation
or sense of being apart

but still i want refuge
in this temporary
sweet affair

in your heart
in you




**

the heart travels far
which is lovely

nice to have it be free

if it travels too far
into memory

this can be sad

it be trained
ironed or discouraged

even sadder



**

my soul is great for its emptiness
before anything was created
from a beginningless beginning
not for how many stuffed armchairs
my ass sat in

my soul is known by its serenity
bright calm and clear
from a time without knowing or mind
not for my special personality
and wit

my soul cannot be organized at all
it was never unknowable
any move otherwise is a distraction
when i recognize this
no fear

no sorrow

**

crossing a field of flowers
or cutting wood just to be different
believing you are in the sound of god
building a house in the desert

the closets are big
they walk on the floor heavily
imagine living here with tall ceilings
and polite neighbors

memory comes and goes
do you remember the music
crossing the fence or making kindling
a night sky with one billion stars

don't know where we end up
for some time we can see with no body
feel with no thinking and hold with no hands
with perfect clarity as never before

but even this does not last
one eternity slips from another

sigh

higher and higher you fly
with no going down
back at last home



**

For Leonard Cohen

be happy on any day
for yourself from yourself

the best gift ever had
you've accepted from you

a person who might not be
the tallest or the strongest
the cleverest or cruel

rather the best for now
wrought from faith and hope

work and promise
loss and gain

happiness and beauty
on this day


===

11.12

yellow and black

stand in line for two hours
early voting

then outside
i encounter a splendid tree

bright yellow maple leaves
a black trunk

so perfect
lamentation does not exist

i take off
my hat and just look and look

what a thing to see

yellow and black



----

November 5th
Maple Grove

any task you took
was a success
failure or not

in being lost
you were staking
a claim on found

not knowing
having insight

giving up
meant you'd be
continuing

it isn't because
you are valiant
faithful or a fool

it isn't you in
denial or a zealot
or just a tool

an inner royal
nature i suppose

can be happy
in any clothes



****

and think

all those
funny things
that are not
funny

the things
that were sad
but not sad

all the good
that was not

and bad
that wasn't bad

bear along

cross fields

around the
corner or bend

on and on

is whatever
you need





****

smoldering fall
they burn leaves

more trees
go blood red
or wild gold

the wind
will come

in one blow
knock 10000
leaves down

kids dive
play in them

dads rake
mow the lawn

burning fall
for some

yonder
small gate

winter is a cure

a plot a grave
bright white

like the house

where you
would be


**

Bass Lake

i can't remember anything
other than what i habitually think

i mention myself to myself

sometimes as if meeting for the first time
after some kind of hilarious accident

far from home in a foreign land



***

in the child's drawing of a reindeer
the animal has a round face like a full moon

antlers arise on the edge of head
like trees
or sacred thoughts

it raises a hand
in benediction

and says 'hi'



**

Love is letting go. Love is not being anywhere. Love is holding on. Love is being here now.

Death is dying today. Death is is living forever. Death is dying tomorrow. Death is never dying.

The trees have lost all their leaves. The trees bring verdant leaves. Trees and leaves are one. Magnificent spare trees, sky.


 **

 Bass Lake
MN

It has no use.

Zen is in whatever it is.

On a voyage, it is a boat in the boat.

If you are sitting in a room, it is the room in the room.

Illusion of self, in ghost of mind.


**

Bass Lake
Maple Grove

i come

from landless hope
no purchase

we sailed
landed cleared

deep woods

when any friend
shows up

there is
a celebration

I am sleeping.

No, I am not sleeping.

I am dreaming.

No, I am not dreaming.


----

Basswood
Sept 2016

nothing ends
or starts

no ending because
there was no beginning

only now hands
trees leaves eyes looking

is the wind old
or the sunshine over everything

thoughts say

but then they
start telling me

when things start
or end

i am alive
i don't know what happens next

i am free
to feel about this any way i want

-----

Bass Lake

the rain is coming
it will fall hard tonight
you'll keep hearing it
each time you turn over
and try not to listen

drops fall and they are orbs
they collect high up
by first freezing then falling
in near darkness
mirroring city lights below

angles are the only witness
so high up and silent and watchful

tonight they are watching
looking down seeing everything
they never sleep the whole night
when it rains and the water
falls on you


***

Out in the Fields
Osseo