The grace of dream

The chains of sleep
circle my mind,
wakefulness descends
as the grace of dream.

When the sun kisses
these young grasses
the great trees too
drink of light.

Darkness dissolves in
this rich soil,
it stands underneath us as
the earth of questions,
this mystery that is
the twin of knowledge.

To respond to the two
in equal measure is to
hold the roots and leaves
of this existence,
the beginning and end
of growth in
this empty void,
day and night flickering
in this silence
where all things
come to one.

Like a black ocean

Darkness pools around
the heart of time,
castles turn to sand
as even this one candle
goes out.

Is this night or shade
surrounding me like a
black ocean? Each question
is as hollow as bamboo,
each answer silent
as still water under
the empty sky.

Walking through the unending
passages of mind,
I cry out for light.
I know I am alone,
my life disappearing like
thread in this vast carpet,
each word echoing until
there is no one who can
remember my name.

The moon reflected in the water

The moon reflected in the water
is not the real moon.
Yet it has tremendous beauty,
this vision that moves
from perfection to perfection.

A simple phenomenon,
one wave in
this still ocean.
When we return
to the center we find
even this wind is breath.

We will never meet
in the sleep of this world.
When you wake
I will be here,
a candle searching
these dark streets.

In each diamond

The light of silence
is arriving like rain.
This thirst that moves us
along the road of being.

The river carves out
a path of joy.
Your universal face
mirrored in each diamond.

Understand your question,
and live the answer.
Tomorrow never comes, as
this world flickers like a flame.

As if you are the first here

Behave as if
you are the first here.
Alone on an island,
everything is available.

Walk carefully through
your forest of mistakes,
these winding paths
around the source of time.

Gather nectar from
the mouth of life.
Drop seeds as you
dance with the sun.

One who is ready to die
never dies.
Only those that are fearful
cannot end their thirst.

Light fills the dark

Light fills the dark,
as shadows yield
to that vast sound.

I have seen you
in the design of streets,
in the new leaves of spring,
in this labyrinth of flame.

I have heard you
in one hundred strings,
in frozen caves,
in these drums of silence.

What will we create
with this heat when
winter has thawed,
and the centuries of summer
have not yet arrived.

In the privacy of the heart

Grow joy in the privacy
of the heart,
these tears that fall
from the sky of being.

Your path is lit,
this old lantern glowing
along the silence of night.

If you saw the flame
you would weep too.
This white fire that is
the well of life.

This maze cracks from
the weight of our dream.
When the candle is about to go out
it flares as bright as the sun.

The melody of dream

The sound calls to itself in this dense world,
man standing at the threshold of life’s temple.
The end gives birth to new growth,
the strange paths we take on our walk home.

Take this boat beyond these worn borders,
these words that have emptied themselves of
ocean water. The waves run with sunset clouds,
as each bird sails like an arrow into your
scorched heart.

Night shimmers on the waters,
the moon a candle in the dark.
I sleep with my pockets empty as
the melody of dream descends,
my eyes as open as the sun.

The nectar of spring

Harvest the nectar from the flowers of
your mind as spring arrives in abundance.
Grasses thaw from frost and trees begin to turn
green, as nature grows out of its long sleep.

I am still here as the sun warms this country
of spirit, the light falling into sound that
resonates in warm soil. An old river feeds
each small garden, these shoots that rise
to unknown heights in this labyrinth of days.

The pain of winter was a dream, spring is now
awake with the heat of vibration. As I drink
its nectar my soul again starts to dance in
this endless forest of time.

A voice inside my head

You are already a voice inside my head,
no longer to walk near me in the garden of
life. I’m carrying you now, I’m the only one
to rehearse these memories of seasons and years
that are being eaten by time. Yet I feel your trace
in my thoughts, that irreducible feeling of you
moving like wind through my mind.

When I am finished I hope I too will have a few
seeds to grow, some words planted in the soil of
friends and lovers. As sand polishes my gravestone
clean I am nowhere, I am a voice dimming inside your
head before silence sweeps the earth.

The warrior

At war with time, I steady my hands before
death’s arrival. Before that vast silence I say
a few words as birds sail through open sky.
All will be forgotten, all will be washed away
from the shore back into the ocean’s dark depths.

Yet something lingers in the air, some music
will find its way back to rich soil to start again.
I am just a window to life’s play, a fickle instrument
for the waves that break on this shore, an old rhythm
on the lips of the god of time.

The shapeshifter

The shapeshifter puts on a new face as his
lover drifts away, his senses on fire from the
distance between them. Though he knows himself
well he cannot say who he is, or what it is that moves
through him like some winding melody.

A thousand shadows fall behind the characters he plays,
as he loses footing in this growing darkness. Night has
no meaning in this country of shadow, and morning sun
has yet to cut through the clouds like glass.

Far behind his mask his eyes adjust to this black
vacuum. He walks the maze as if he knows its turns,
yet it shifts underneath him as he drifts again into
a new form, falling snow filling in his disappearing
footsteps.

The poet

The poet feels something rising within him as
colored leaves fall from these trees, some words
gathered from a season lost to memory. Birds fly
through orange skies as they search for prey,
as the poet sifts ore from the sand on the shore
of this turning sea.

He must endure each wave with infinite patience.
He fishes when waters are calm, he swims when
the current can carry him to unknown islands.
A vast silence surrounds him as he works,
he draws from its body as if from a well of shadows.

He guards his flame in these caves, this seed
of light that raises more questions than it answers.
At nightfall he kindles a fire, watching it dance
under the moon as he dreams of home.

In dark waters

Ride the shadow of this haunting music,
these melodies that hold both lies and strange
truths. You are that reflected in dark waters,
the traces of your movements echoing outward
over its still face.

Your perfections too have two sides, split where
life’s heat touches the face of winter. This effort
has a silent gravity, each step pulling you deeper
into the heart of night.

This time you shall meet your dual nature,
as your cup overflows into that great river.
Beliefs drop like old clothes and memories shift
like sand in this wind. I gaze at the moon,
its glow cutting through night like this candle
burning down in my dark room.

The womb of time

Sit inside the womb of time, this soft origin
from which grows seedlings and great trees.
The creation is continuous, these winds of color
blowing over the blank spaces in need of new life.

From the beginning there has been breath,
a movement in and out of this door of awareness.
Taking root in the country of spirit this silence falls
like night rain, my dream sailing on open seas.

An end is not in sight. It is hard to even imagine
the force of this fire dying down amidst the abundant
forest now covered in flames. Some growth will still
emerge in the orbit of dimming stars as plants creep
through the cracks, a green tendril threading wild
through a black sea.

The roots of night

The colors I see in this country are the only
ones I know, a history written in these small
thoughts of mind. Yet across the sea there must
be a land of gold, there must be a white fire
below the trails of smoke that dance with the
clouds.

Harvest light from these fields of darkness,
the bright fruits hanging heavy from the black
branches that have grown from the roots of night.
This crop may be the last of it’s kind, as these
forgotten lands turn to dust.

The watcher

The watcher sees the colors of life swirl
in his lens, the actors and their roles changing
hands like playing cards. It is hard to remain still
as these desires move closer to the center, as your
lover caresses your cool eyelids with a kiss.

From this seat of awareness his meditation is not
disturbed by the persistent knock of reality.
When midnight comes it finds him upright,
the winds playing with this flag as its pole remains
fixed deep in ancient soil.

As his eyes grow deeper his gaze becomes ever
more silent. The tendrils of earth are as near as
jellyfish, and as far as the constellations in this
tapestry of night. If he wavers it is in service of
deeper waters, the oceanic currents that will deliver
this raft to the other shore.

As hot as a white sun

Cast out the net of knowledge, this web that
grips each small thing under the night sky.
Each corner of day has its magic, each place
your home for a moment as you walk steadily
toward your final expression, this face you have
only seen in dreams.

The smoke of doubt surrounds you in the middle
of this open field, leaving the taste of a question
on your lips. Even your eyes are cloudy as your
hands trace these reeds, looking for leaves shaped
like this half moon suspended in the dark.

It is not out of malice that nature remains in its
ringed shell, this vessel of water and air. It is you
that is still hidden in the light of night, sitting upright
as the pulse of wisdom burns as hot as a white sun.