Send

This article
I think
might be
appreciated
by you

It has been
three and
one half
years but
why not

I open a
new email
message
and type
the note:

Thought you
might like
to read this
so just
sharing


And look
your city is
mentioned
among the
others


I am sure
this will
spark an
exchange
and soon

It is only
two minutes
until I am
notified:
undeliverable

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At the Gate

Once the race is run
don’t the horses circle back
counter clockwise across
the same turf where once
they stood inside the gate
muscles warmed, minds
furlongs in the future.
Isn’t it also true that in
running the final stretch
they return to the place
new races will unfold?
If I were a horse consider
me ready to be loaded in,
not for the first time,
listening closely for the
bell in the way that I once
was a mare inside a gate
waiting my turn to run
and would like to again

December 30, 2019

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Best Dress

I have slipped into you,
put you against my skin,
You learned my walk by
holding pendulum hips,
took a place in my home,
often hung by the door
to my bedroom – I can’t
recall how many times
I’ve looked over from bed
to see you waiting for me
and thought how lucky
to have found each other

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Innateness

Even in moments you point and announce
that is the North Star” clearly, but I do not
know up from down from east from west,
night from dawn from good decision or not,
even in this spinning compass confusion
the truth of ourselves it spills forth
seeps into stories as the sea to old boats
says remember that you are in my grasp
and without needing directions
nor want for light on the harbor
the animal innateness of ourselves
in the way gravity is never not there
finds the way to show itself

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Weeks or Months

How long will it be?
We have been watching the moon
which waxes and wanes and
renews itself and brings,
usually, decent fortune

We have boarded the plane
taken seats by the window
settled in for a movie
preparation is done

I read the journal back to front,
an order that makes sense
to a brain most intent
on knowing endings

How long now?
Until life has changed enough that
the current era is only seen by
standing at the window,
looking through a glass

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The Community Garden

It is not what you expect to find
after trekking uphill five blocks
in the Japanese District after a
hot day in the city. It smells like
compost tumbling over itself
here on the side of the hill,
is strewn together good enough
with spare wood, multi-multi-use
buckets and laminated signs
some person with a printer
tacked to tree trunks to guide
visitors toward an exit; yes,
wabi-sabi enough to get lost.
It is how we ran our land when
I was young, making do with
parts of things and scraps and
pieces of other things. I forget
the city outside. Chicken coop
signs (please do not feed us rice),
sunflowers grown beyond a
hand’s span whose peach fuzz
necks bow to watch weeds sustain
this morsel of wild in the city,
now I barefoot along stone steps,
toe my way down the other side,
find a sitting-rock in the orchard
and do that a while among this
stench of four-days-fallen apples
and flies on a summer afternoon
and when I am done scribbling
memories search for more to do,
for more to think about, perhaps
another reason to stay put.

(August 27, 2019)

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