Behind the scenes of earth’s silence
There are words,
Like spring leaves they bob
Nonchalantly on the surface
Of forest ponds.
But don’t look for them there,
The secrets are left behind on naked trees
Silhouetted in black against
The dusky sky.


It’s snowing on the treetops

It’s snowing
On the treetops
Casting long shadows
On a lake
Black and blue by
the moonlight
Sweeping white-glowing
Smelling of
Gripping around
My ankles
To keep
My secret from spilling
Into the deafness
Of the cleft

Into the mystery

The autumnal quiet
When all that’s left
Are pine needles and
A defenseless barren moor.
And the inflamed sky walks
Among pines, leaving
Bloody footprints among
Thorns. But I
Do not fear the quiet,
I do not need to hurry
Before dusk. I willingly
Poke holes
In my heart to let in
The night.


The border of you and me

I am standing at the border
Of you and me
At the hub of our oneness –
A contradictory moment
When darkness
Swallows the light.


An untethered self

I walked barefooted
Through the solar systems
Until I found a path of stars
Leading me to an untethered self
I didn’t recognize
Until I saw it reflected
In the Lake
Outside my childhood home.


I am

I am sky; absent clouds shifting,
Bright dusk arising or descending,
Roaring quietly, but deeply and eternally
Birthing stars from darkness and
Obscuring galaxies into oblivion.
Like a sea of torrential consciousness
My awareness is illuminated by death.
I am emptiness; inhabiting;
Without space for nothing,

I am; availability; the taking
And making of matters,
A steeply elusive discus
Releasing at the precise millisecond
Of maximum thrust.

I am; a consistently integrated ambition,
clustering unlimited sub-selves
With a secret objective.

I am; impossible opportunity,
Bright darkness burning,
A moonlit sun and wind;
Unmoving wind tearing holes
In the moving of space.

I am; vision; reinvigorated
By the opposition, I spread through
Shallow eternity,
Spinning slowly, enfolding
In art, biology, science.

I am; the invisible you,
The nothing and everything
In all.


Hovering above myself

I am hovering above myself
As though my existence is a circle
Painted on borrowed beach sand
Drawn by sticky fingertips
On someone else’s reality,
Its oily prints trailing a whole universe
Upon a silent sky.