Snorkler

Fold laundry half evenly
From dusty quiet dullness,
To dry deletion...
I reach for music.

I remember!
And stop squinting against the
perfect black body.

Hang and curl limbs and head with certainty,
the buoyancy of foam on water

Samsara is happiness

Moon

My grandfather, said his father told him,
when you look at the moon, you can tell how you are doing
by whether the man on the moon is smiling or frowning.
My grandfather saw that face somewhere in-between, uncertain.
When I look at the moon, I see an Otter.

You asked about my joy

My joy is a flood of mineral water

To revive life everywhere on the mountainside.

Creatures scraping life from the cracked soil will flourish and spread.


But when this flooding stops,

What will sustain the greenery?

Puzzle

Forcing the question again, it runs like

A car with no battery

A puzzle of mixed pieces

A model missing energy

To stop torquing the gears, and watch,

turning galaxies materialize from fog;

The gentlest turn is wanted for perfect buoyancy

Burble

Walking out of the subway with an aquarium head

Bodies rotate in and out of focus, a merry go round of jackets, hats and jewelry

I teeter under the weight with the wind, balance and dodge

Thru the ripples I cannot make out what danger

all the beings are running from

Samsara

The hungry ghost of seven generations is present

I am aware of the hot knife cut behind my ears, around my head to my chest,

cauterizing the veins.

The cry for satisfaction rings with the pressure of 1000 voices

I bow to it, awestruck, grimacing, for the evening.

When gravity releases and reduced to static, I can question it:

But in the meantime; how did I ever think it possible to push this away?