Copyright 1998  All Rights Reserved

A poem has something to do
with how nature
is a part of us.

Your raw bone, the one you threw
at me,
that shattered the glass,
that is my elixir.
 Your black palms
exposed me
in dharma
for what I am,

with snow quietly 


the grey wars
the heart
out of the ground;

and death,
so curiously

in every limb
pulled up,

in every drop of water

the fisherman couldn't catch.
 You too were
old enough once
to have been taken on a ride
to never return.

Firewood does not startle you
when it burns
so slowly inside
your house.

Maybe you were luckier than I was,
when you were alone
there was no sensibility,
there was only multiple seeds
in the ground,

the gifts of life
already had been opened.
 For all your endless breaths
of pity…there is still hope
for those who live where
no one looks out of their house.

All those lichens are
where the deer’s shadow
belies a closeness
we must come back home for
to survive.
 All the moons
you took with you
are broken promises.

The day bright heavens are
untouched flames of 


as is the snow

that melts
in the heart.
Under a waxing winter moon,
you make the first footprints
in the new snow 
seem impenetrable.

It was only two weeks ago, 
when I thought you 
would be my lover,