folding the body
108
times

ill still

but rest has opened me
to thought
prayers
the body
given
more
than before

hibernaculum

this evening under it

integral

to this

is
is
that

yellow gray

that is
soil -  a color of
a peculiar smudge of sky
specks of windblown dirt
or strong winter haze
days trying to paint
yellow gray

Ill

spent in bed and painting
I'm ill

rarely so

rill

erodes
until
gullied
streamed


river

loess

pronounced luss
south and west of us
yellow gray
wind blown
soil

daydream

Bob shoveling snow

Jasmine in Ubud

Anca's hole in the ceiling

under
milk skies

enter
emptiness

rescuing
them
from danger
and
confinement

I daydream about
those kinds of things

sick as a dog cause

I am sick as a dog
my brain is foggy
my decisions should not be trusted

therefore

I
am
free

of interpretation

imagining

light as a post to
and  reply

texting
without the love letters


an echo
an echo
and then

stop

to begin again

as above

so below
I can't get on to
youtube
or access


peace

where I'm going next

it's on
the devil comes at four o'clock
we're ready  for him
the question is
where are we going next?

dry sip

it isn't cost
it is just ignorance
inside the bottle

don't quote me

globe

snow
falling
on

sleeping
beside me

how many breaths per minute?
soft full low long - 17, 18, varied

your fingertips are torn paper dry
skin cells die quickly this week

clammy to the lips
that kiss
you
a toxic piss spill

still
you're
at peace

alive

more boats

you read

Orwell on Kipling
(" I don't know much about him really")

I gild

green paper boats

the house is clean and quiet

more boats

this morning I bowed in my head
I heard the prajna paramitra

like the Milwaukee River
running black in my brain

free

boats
aren't thoughts

prayers
aren't thoughts

cancer
isn't thought

clean
quiet
clear

more boats

nowadays

I  cannot count the times I have scratched this from essays
by Koreans and Chinese
Kuwaitis and  Saudis
an occasional Brazilian

nowadays is the um of adverbs
and so condemned to fill the awkward pause of second language time

it's not fault but ubiquity
that irks

in this tongue we like to hedge as we imply
leave a little wiggle room
to forget the present
ignore time for signs
of
something
not
quite


here

first heavy snow

a white light foot of it

K's dream

second day after chemo
weak
sleeping most of the day

you say -

the best dream
was the one
where I made a lot of money
for my boss
George Washington

Saints day

Saint Damascus, a man

a book in Latin

a lion a book another man

the window where
Jerome
stares out
impatient with
boys and snow

Fed on joy, wind, green apples.

Brought together
as honey and dust
as cusp above
so below

the point being
earth

and what it raised

rises

repeat

an open book

a closed book

a work in progress

not what we ask for
what we are given

your sadness will not go away
but you will go away

what legacy?


what grace?

my sister made a small hole in the universe
planted a seed
and grew 

regret
comparison
yearning

are the three magi
of the heart

acceptance
clarity
gratitude

devotion
a gateway
and illusion
beads

count your blessings

give
even when
you are
unsure

mandela

died
95
95
95

arhat

on  ice