January 2011 | back-issues, poetry
The Day a Rabbit Fell Out of a Tree
In Lot 30,
next to the Corn Lot,
I started shooting parrots
out of a eucalyptus.
I hit one on my first shot–
it crashed
through the branches
and thudded
head first on the ground.
Then, behind me,
I heard a flapping of wings
and turned around quickly
only to see a rabbit
fall out of another tree
and thump listlessly upon a root
sticking up from the base of the trunk.
How strange.
Was this a sign?
If I were Roman, Trojan, or Greek,
I am sure I would believe so.
I examined the rabbit.
It was limp and still warm
but there was no blood,
only a long slash
like a talon might make
on its side,
its muscles and ribs exposed.
Now, either a hawk dropped it,
frightened by my shotgun blast,
or Diana was playing with me.
Distant Trees
“I don’t understand why distance
must be measured in nonnegative
numbers.”
The thicker part of the Wood
Has been cut
And becomes thicker still.
“If I face north,
distance to the south
is behind me.”
Every trunk branches
Ten times, and each branch becomes a
tree,
Even though painted with herbicide and
oil.
“Which way to the Hope Ranch?”
“Oh you go back the way you came.
Ten kilometers.”
The Post Maker lied.
The bad wood has returned.
Worse and without trails.
“Yesterday I walked all the way
to the Wood from my ranchhouse: 3
kilometers,
then back again: 6 kilometers in total
(or is that zero since I walked back
on the same azimuth?)
Yesterday I walked to the Wood.
Yesterday I walked back.
Yesterday I walked.
Yesterday.”
I want to return to the Wood,
To the way it was.
January 2011 | back-issues, poetry
Homeward
I’ve been staring at the life-size crucifix[br]
Since midnight; but light has illuminated[br]
His immovable, heavenwards gaze.[br]
Strangely, it dawns on me how man seems[br]
So alone-as if fear has become embodied[br]
In words expressed in tense silence,[br]
“Why have you forsaken me?”[br]
[br]
How have I arrived here?[br]
[br]
This moment of sudden clarity[br]
Makes me realize how-in places that seem open[br]
To my restlessness-far away I’ve strayed[br]
From I believe to be the circular route[br]
That justifies my leave-taking.[br]
[br]
But shouldn’t one be lost to discover[br]
(Jiddu Krishnamurti)? Discover what?[br]
That it isn’t good for man to be alone[br]
(Genesis 2:18 NIV)? Is it why I have this fear,[br]
As I sit still wanting to keep[br]
My shadow from vanishing?[br]
[br]
But there have been these moments[br]
When I enjoyed the expertise of God’s[br]
“Helpers” suitable for me. But if they[br]
Gravitated gratis from God’s good graces,[br]
If feigned, why would I have to spend[br]
For those short times? Is there a price[br]
For all dualities that, in my case, seem[br]
Unable to bring anything to closure?[br]
Is nothing for free[br]
But God’s unforced companionship?[br]
[br]
What for, then, has God created the first Eden,[br]
Whose ideal seems the inadequate artwork[br]
Concealed in obsessions[br]
To replicate, replicate and replicate,[br]
Till a preconceived perfection is reached?[br]
Since it all began have hands been crafting[br]
Copies of Paradise for feet to find “rest”-[br]
Which instead finds its suitable “helper”[br]
In “Lady Lessness,” so that it becomes[br]
The dreaded cycle allover again.[br]
[br]
Lingering in God’s dwelling[br]
Now soaked in light, I realize[br]
I’ve seen everything I need to see,[br]
And that there’s nothing left[br]
I haven’t tasted.[br]
As the most famous Florentine would have said,[br]
I am “midway in our life’s journey.”[br]
[br]
Should I thus be grateful[br]
That I’ve found myself in His house this early?[br]
Have I went down Augustine’s path,[br]
That I should be finding the apogee of my climb?[br]
[br]
If so, I’m glad I’m on my way home.[br]
Returning to Zen
No sooner could raindrops kiss its[br]
Lanceolate leaves than the sun[br]
Making water look like golden beads.[br]
Eternity as if enclosed in each glob[br]
Falling pianissimo like fruit[br]
Ripe for picking. Nectar seeps the[br]
Wind’s threads, attracting droning wings[br]
As abuzz each pierce through spaces[br]
Like canopied eyes, as though to follow[br]
Some scents bursting silently from its heart[br]
Where the beat is the ancient echo of stillness.[br]
[br]
From where I sit,[br]
The bark seems burnished, as though it glows.[br]
Or is it a trick of light, or shadows-[br]
After moments of stillness[br]
Till the only sound is breathing,[br]
The Mind’s Lotus blooming-[br]
Like a new eye uncovering the camouflaged-[br]
And seeing quite clearly[br]
The insatiable colony,[br]
Colored like honey,[br]
Inching upwards on the bark[br]
Like tireless workers or armies[br]
Swarming towards the rotten,[br]
Aware of rainy days to come.[br]
January 2011 | back-issues, poetry
the velvet softness
of the silence of Winter
(of Death)
impresses itself
upon my ears.
an inexplicable humming;
a throbbing lack of sound
forces its way
into me.
