Monday, March 21, 2011

intimist

There is
nothing between
you
and the
pupate green garden,
the compost mountain,
the dead squirrel’s furry copse, 
soughing in the pear hollow.
Nothing. 
Remember?
Emptiness
is a sun.
I’m so thankful
I keep forgetting
where the light comes from,
and discover it
all over again.
and again,
and again.