Moss on Granite

I turn my mind to suchness, and the view from a morning errand draws open:

A faceted hollow crystal

Bright green moss on sandy quartz

Seedlings on rotting plywood

Seashell embedded concrete


A desert sprung to life instantaneously;

I walk softly in a verdant paradise

House on Fire

What a moment ago was resting and grounded is now lit;

It paints sparks and rumbles glowingly

to show coins of silver under roots, and behind rocks.

Doused, the dim fog returns, but not peace.

Why could I not stay rigid and ruled?

My arguments turn to ash, and I want to crawl and scrape the dirt for treasure




I would like to give away the remnant sticks and cinders,

for someone else's fire

to who can create iron from their passion

Mine is a cool flame, reaching and straining to own the inky night sky.

After the fuel is spent, I can see the contrast to the clammy cold,

Awakened, but no happiness owned

Cessation

Noticing the still lake, I can hear the echo of its silence reach back thru time.

What was believed to be death, serenity; what nothingness, calm

Asleep voices notice enough to ripple the glass, but become bored and return to resting

They have long suspected the lake’s presence, so oblige