Tuesday, June 18, 2013


                 Every other day we set out.... no idea the  direction,
little knowledge of where the wind will take us.
          I found this poem scribbled in pencil in an old
grey notebook. I have well over 100 notebooks here.
This is my task - to sit still and turn the pages
and see what arises, This poem arose.
          I don`t know. I wrote part of it, I think.
I know the cabin and the cliff.  I can feel the
          If anybody else is reminded of another
author,  tell me.   I think it`s lovely:

mid-winter thaw, snow everywhere
old plum tree, bent and gnarled
all at once
one blossom
two blossoms, uncountable
blossoms, not proud of petals
or frangrance, but boundless
spreading, becoming spring
blowing over grasses and trees
whirling, changing into wind
wild rain, falling on the shoulder,
snow all over the earth.


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