Grief releases in-
finite desire. Wind-blown blos-
soms choke the gutter.
Stay within yourself
however wet and windy.
Death can’t penetrate
the self. So let it
be this innermost weather,
this lush appearing.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 18.6.22
”This elementary rapport with the worth of being is both felt and affirmed for the being in its otherness to our mind beyond dualism. This is extremely difficult to understand.” Morisato, 97.
There are no worthless
objects only personal
limits. Fat goslings
graze under broken
skies. Down below in the cove,
ducks go in circles.
I let it all speak
to me and through me. Divine
ambiguities.
Adam and Eve walked
hand in hand in the garden.
I’ve known her light touch.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 6.14.22
“Complete attention is like unconsciousness.” Simone Weil, quoted in Kotva, Effort and Grace, p. 140
WORK IN PROGRESS
A room at the top
of a hill overlooking
the bay, which changes
color. Trees awash
in change. From this height I am
open to change. Still,
above all this, that
emptiness awaiting words
that need not change. That
fertile Nothingness
grounds my love and myself in
change, eternal change.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 11.6.22
“HMS Gaspee was a British custom schooner that enforced the Navigation Acts around New Port, Rhode Island, in 1772.” Wikipedia
WORK IN PROGRESS
My lyric practice.
I watch the cobalt water
where the Gaspee burned
in protest. Heroes,
slave owners, traders: today
we throw a party.
The village booming—
it’s great for merchants.
The Bay is dark blue.
.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 9.6.22
WORK IN PROGRESS
Out of the corner
of my eye on the walk home,
thinking through Dante,
a trinity per-
haps: one swan rocking on the
swell, one feeding, and
a white gull plunging.
Glimpsed in passing, Love’s image
stamped on summer air.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 6.6.22
The Providence, calm
as it becomes the bay, the
ocean, from our seats
in the gazebo,
backlit our conversation.
Canada geese with
goslings fed nearby.
We had many years between
us, so little time.
The river ran on,
the geese fed their fill, our sen-
tences took their time.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 6.4.22
Don’t count the time lost
on the river’s edge waiting
for an egret to
rise, unfold its wings,
extend its long white neck, turn
in the summer haze.
The river, empty
now of interest, settles
your unsettled heart.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 1.6.22
“Nishitani likens the imaging of the world to the ’empty sky’…” Helsig, 250
The bay shines beyond.
I lay face down on the dark
lawn of white clover.
When I turn over,
the empty sky embraces
my body’s image.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 30.5.22
WORK IN PROGRESS
“Poetry can do that much and no more.” Czeslaw Milosz
Low tide leaves yellow
pollen drying in the mud
of the cove. High tide
returns the shimmer.
But today, Memorial
Day, grief deepens the
insight. Our wars waste
what restores the human flower,
the no-self’s power.
Today, pollen in
the air, in the water, O
man’s crude cruelty.
Yet further away,
a mute swan doubled by light
summer clouds piled high.
NEAR PROVIDENCE 25.5.22
WORK IN PROGRESS
“…the origin as fertile void, understood as kenotic, because agapeic, the fullness of being …” Desmond, Voiding of Being, 46
I stop by to see
the swan. Spring light graces its
long neck. I’m aware
the swan I see is
different: it’s head
and half its neck plunged beneath
the dark water. Were
I a poet not
a bottom feeder, I would
not feel a thing now.
Sun on the swan’s back—
salt and fresh brimmimg, the cove
is full of goodness.
……
Metaxyturn Diaries 