treasures from the doze

such a thing

there is such a thing
as revelatory doze
on the doorstep of dream


suppose

suppose there is
no trapeze

what of
the artist, then?

(fight flight freight
in the night...)


learning to walk

i learned to walk
outside myself


exile

exile is 
its own spirit


shores

I do not 
live literally
but on 
the very shores 
of being
I have come 
to know
sampling the salt
on the breeze
from the sea


reach

I can not reach
to teach but am
a grain of and
that irritates 
in oyster filtering
sleep of deep


before you fell

i knew
you were dying
water slipping
through  my fingers
no slake 
for my thirst
you knew it, too
ashen of face
long sad fingers
full of grace


abstained

doctor and I
both abstained
to let you die
at great pain
to both of us
and yet a gain
I have the scar
I cherish the hurt


wisdom

wisdom 
can not be given
as a pill, 
tablet or capsule,
and yet
it is medicine


my own wake

weeping meditation 
is waking in my own wake


enter

I let my terror
come in instead of
aspiring to be stone

it began to change
its face to become 
the onion of hope

dazzling lily of light
as I cried and cried,
let quakes shake belly


cradle

my loneliness 
cradled me
as I grasped
emptiness


ruins

i enter the doze
to curate the ruins 
of my days that are
markers of my way

at sea

every place i live
is my ship at sea
this is memory
that’s prophecy
full many storms
trying to be


not blind

terror 
is not blind
but has eyes
to see what
it can not say
and can’t forget


snowflakes

snowflakes
for a snowbank
words
for feeling


morning

dossier
of sunlight