Saturday, July 24, 2021


To accept the passion not because it's fated 
But because love needs an opening to say ...

Every day the ripened fruit's consumed.
The vines will kill before they die.
The energy is all there is, which is why
All that lives goes inside that flow ...

But in this state, where everything seems
To move away from us, we pile on griefs 
For carbon structures, humus and dust ...

This is us, needing the loss of ourselves
To recover the world, who we are,

Like the Chinese scrolls stilled what flowed:
The bamboo groves, dance-gowned birds,
Mountain atmospheres, the words
That are drawn in the sky.