Turning Point

the alarm sounds shattering the surrounding silence, bringing about an end to the disillusionment of evening. clothing coalesces with flesh, coating the sensitivity of ache, like the projection of the day's events drape over a tired brain. unaware of the legs that hold up the battle torn torso, floating on clouds of dense morning fog, finding no solace in weightlessness but rather confusion over wingless flight. mantras make moving able, the repetition of phrases following the soon-to-be repetitive day: change is the only constant one says, and the chorus joins in, change is the only constant, we all begin to say.

Wild China

If I be a sichuan ape
atop a branch,
snow drenched
with my golden mouth agape

Then you are my guardian
on 2 legs,
seeking lichens
to ease my hunger pains.

*

If you be a row of limestone mountains
overbearing,
commandeering the sky
with scraggly stray trees for a mane

Then I am the wonder-filled explorer
curious,
trudging through your deep valleys,
giving all your branches names.

*

If I be the bamboo tree
and you be the rain
together we will become one
and push through the soil's plane.

"Do-Be-Do-Be-Do." - Dr. Amit Goswami

Days darken,
clouds shapeshift
and pass.

When this occurs,
the tea finds me
to address:

"Always be pure, simple and honest."

These words,
above all others,
allow hope to last.