Sunday, November 8, 2009



You're quick and barefoot
don't have the patience
for sunrise

haul yourself up
the steep legs of mountains

compete for the slender green
accomplishment of grass.


In June, you are
a gravestone

the breeze goes
right through your heart.

For everyone
you hold the solemnity
of all things.


Ripped sleeve on the tight
edge you walk
toes pointed to touch

You taught yourself
how to dance despite
the hut you grew up in

taught yourself to sing
in a bowl that held tears.


I am running through
multitudes of goodness
grass higher than Tokyo
insects my playmates

giving me the music
that flashes green
after the sun has hidden itself
behind the hills.

1 comment:

  1. These are wonderful. Took me a moment to get it starting with Buddha (very Buddha poem!, therefore!) and then once I caught on - wow.