shops

all this stuff we don't need

I almost forget to look up (even once) and see the hills

surreptitious

slug slides past the cat bowls.

down the road and back at dusk for fresh air.
billows of airborne varnish wrap us in stink.

shy hellebores

gently lifting the dark cup of a hellebore, her stamens pale green against the chocolate petals

i should have had the tiramisu: boozy, dark & sweet

small tight scarlet peony buds promise luscious summery blowsiness

towels and shirts and pillowcases show me the shapes of the breeze

spring

blossom blows past the window, and for a moment my brain thinks: snow

spring/winter

we sit outside in the first warm-enough sun of the year. we drink our tea. there is a small slug in the grass. kaspa pulls two white hairs from my head.

behind the rusted iron fence, red fallen leaves sink slowly back into the soil

when we are safe, emotion breaks through like a spring of clear fresh water

through the shrine room window

as we do walking meditation around the Buddha, we see Zen patting at a dead mouse with his paws

small splash of cream on the corridor floor. only a trifle.

we walk around
around the pond
and then throw a ball
between ourselves.
everything
is
simple.

sore throat

each swallowing of saliva a pointer to pain

after the group

my body is heavy with grief. i don't know whose.

chanting

108 beads on my mala, round and round and round, getting closer and closer to the light

moss blooming in the interstices, sock-you-in-the-eyes lime green

group process

too close.too far away.too close.too far away.

C.S.I.

He makes a slit across the forehead and peels the face-skin away from the skull. This is not real. This is real.

cold slips in through the window, steals in at my cuffs

before evening service, waiting for people to arrive, we identify the two tick-tocks of two of the three clocks. time ticks on. we identify the third.

the orchid, forgiving me my neglect, magicks three dark buds

stop.
breathe.
let your weight sink.
towards the earth.

silver miniature oak-leaf cuff-links, patterned with miniature veins

in a coffee shop perched on the edge of the hill, the infinitely unknown space of the future opens a silence between us

the open window lets in traffic-noise, cold fast air, a clear view of the blue

ladybird clings with six legs to the tip of my pencil

rosy sunlight falls on the hill. an uprooted tree has broken the fence. the sheep graze on, interested only in grass. we kiss by the gate. our boots squelch.

i hold space for others. later i dissolve and someone else holds space for me.