NEAR PROVIDENCE 19.6.22

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.

……

%d bloggers like this: