Morning Poem

I will skim the fresh dew

off the morning mind’s clean slate

Trembling the edge of sleep through

and weaving thought-nests to relate

Sip the milk of sunrise

and come blushing awake as trees do

As hard an underlayer as fate

To change first patterns from their root.

Boy and His Spirit

A boy and his spirit both see the world innocent

from each other to learn and benefit

‘The world is understandable,’ one claims,

‘I hope not too understandable,’ one retains.

Curiosity, then back to their twinned gaze.

‘Both the least and the most legible of them all,’ each says,

‘is you.’

The astonishing ever-presence!

no admonishing, just quintessence,

of asking each other what is true.

‘From the world I’ve gained independence,’ one says,

‘by insisting that it approach me through you.’

So our relationship shall always continue

Time moves, though condensed

Not disparate, though tense

By our journey the whole web made true.

The Place Where A Poem Happens

Walking Into

the void,

the blank page the place

where a poem happens 

where fear has license to speak 

where god has license to speak 

a self-given space to think.

Walking Up To

the door unopened 

the locked drawer the earthquake 

where the world cracks open

and the voice of everywhere will speak

knowledge in the body starts to speak.

The world the day the apparent outside 

are your thoughts reaching their peak

The dark the earthquake the cage

is only your own branch 

in your own spokes turning.

Honor

The honor I bequeath unto myself

is a heavy liquid yet lifting

from my feet to flush my face

I stand in the self-made heat, 

back held straight.

All the pressure I bring to bear 

on this world and its people

I can bring more to bear on this first person

for the frame is stable, 

and the groundwork is laid.

The care of this soul is endless

The world is enveloping shade

The experience, is the reward, is paid.