There’s something in Winter Branches.
Maybe the Cold Rain.
Maybe the Pearls of Wind hard diamonds of Sun
Stray Light of a Season Lost
A questionable friend with Bright Eyes
and Frozen Limbs.

The Way of Wood
Tears Lingering are now Ice
The memory is a Leaf that Died
The smell is sweet rotten Love;
the Life that Lied to us, Fed us,
Renewed us, Spit us out, Held us
We have nowhere left to Run.

We Multiplied and became Freeways
we Died inside our Cars but loved the Movies
that guided us to Stars
and drank from our Already-Empty Cups
We were cut by our own Blades
and Melted inside our own sun
Cooked to Perfection in the Big Karmic Kiln…

There’s a Million Pearls
And a Million Stars
Sun seems Distant
But it’s Not Really Far
the Light you see now
Has already died
Unless the Light you’re Looking At
Is the Light Inside …

That tree, you see,
is the Tree of Life
It grows on the Island
that knows no Strife.
“Pretty” is a word for parrots
and it won’t take you home.
These words are useless because
they leave you all alone.
This word, and this Tree,
and all the lights ever to Live
are all Switched On

Inside of Me.

This Primal Buddha
In the Kitchen of the East
Wrote my name in Ashes and Rainbows
Smeared my love in the Dust
Poured my Drink in the Shadows
Paid my bill in the Moonlight
Drained my Blood into his Ancestors’ Grave

And then …
Pronounced us Man and Wife
And we Dangled Tin Cans
Behind our Chevrolet
At the End
of America’s Days

I have Now
My Time is Empty
Slaves gaze at Painted Horizons
Free men open the Eye Within
and One Nectar is Gathered.

Ask any Bee.
The Line Between Here and Honey
Is the Unwavering Prayer-Flag
of your own heart

The Notebook of Life is open
the Pen rests quietly on an Empty Page

this Pen has written on Many Pages
this Pen will write on pages to come.

This Pen now rests on an Empty Page
an Empty Page in mid-October Sun.

In Resting & Renewal, there is an Understanding
of Silence; a Gentle Marriage to the Still Places
of Life.

Inside these Still Places, there is a conversation
with our own Deeper Wisdom, our own Inner Friend;
A Drink from the Fountain that flows at River’s Source.

The Notebook is Open
The Pen rests quietly on the Empty Page
There is Nothing to Begin,
Because Everything has already Begun

There is Nothing to End

Because Everything is Over,
everything we ever Started …

The only thing Not Ending, and Not Begining,
is the Wonder Beyond Words
Which there are no words for, no pens for, no paper for;
no Formalities, Rituals or Celebrations
that Do Justice
to the Unsung Song.

The Pen rests in Silence
It’s tip in Wet Eternal Kiss
on Empty Paper.

All songs have been sung,
and no words have sprung
From this Overflowing
Vessel
of Song.

The Soft Fashion of Love
wrote itself wrapped itself floats itself
around the central finger of my ear canal

The Taste of Electric Dewdrops lingering
like frost on my tongue, god’s cake icing
Krishna’s Dandelion Wine, Buddha’s Belgian Chocolate

The Indelible Massage of Time
stretching and tearing my fabric
into singing shreds of encoded green silk
mixed with the sweetness of Coconut Milk
lifting my nose to the laughter of
a Million Gardenias in your
Drunken Mid-day sun

The Soft Fashion of Love
speaks its Designerly Style
parading in Paris, New York & Malibu
for a thousand Giraffes, a Million Peacocks
a Gamelon Orchestra of conches and chimes
that all begin anew …

In that Fragrant and Silken Tunnel
that leads
to the doorway
of you