Asia’s Rain

It’s winter and I can no longer uncouple the roots from the soil,
so I work at untangling the branches from the sky.
My fingers become numb as dusk silently closes the bar
with no “Last Call.”  Drunk mermaids have emerged
from Prufrock’s final stanzas to giggle, each to each.

Adept at retrieving their sotted souls
from the basin of their ignorance,
I single out a blonde
and whisper something bluer than her eyes
as she holds onto my arm like
a lost saint.

Come home tonight; there’s nothing more to say.
This phone is cold against my eager ear
and every word will serve to guide the way.

I hear your voice in time through some delay,
the words, your own, though this is what I hear:
come home tonight; there’s nothing more to say.

I got here in the morning, yesterday.
Your message was recorded, almost clear,
and served with every word to guide the way.

It wasn’t cold, although the sky was gray.
You left a thoughtful note to calm my fear–
“Come home tonight; there’s nothing more to say”

I saw you in my mind, you kneeled to pray.
Your soul, a welcome comfort lingered near
with words that served to guide me in its way.

I found your book, your chair, a place to stay
where every thought was free to shed a tear.
Come home tonight; there’s nothing more to say,
and every word will serve to guide the way.

She glances quickly
Nobody is watching her
Except a dreamer

One hand is strong; one hand is weak
One holds a pen; one wipes a tear
Unwritten words, no voice to speak
The strength of love still lingers near

Impatient dancing
shuffling my wooden legs
beneath my hips of flesh–
just don’t look down
keep staring at my face
and occasionally touch my shoulders
and laugh with your eyes
I’ll lean in and say
something foolish or witty
that will be lost
in the crowd of musical vibration
that surrounds our chance encounter
Shit! the music is
fading out

I am the path of body, soul, mind, and spirit.
I am the path of action, emotion, thought, and vision.

The way of the body is action.
The way of the soul is emotion.
The way of the mind is thought.
The way of the spirit is vision.

I am the path of strength, beauty, and peace:

Strength in the body,
Beauty in the soul,
Peace in the mind and with the spirit.

Holiness is balance of body, soul, mind, and spirit.
Holiness is harmony of strength, beauty, and peace.

I am the path of holiness.

At three a.m.
when I was sure
that nobody
would see
I walked
from a quaint
bed and breakfast
on River Road
under the Rainbow Bridge
past the deserted
pay binoculars
standing like
dead sentries
in the night
past the gift shop
where they sell
bottled water
and soon-to-be-trash
mementos
at prices
beyond belief
I walked
two point five kilometers
beyond the rim
that spills
into the gorge
below the mist
I slipped
into the woods
marked by danger
and no trespassing
signs
I scurried
to the water’s
edge
exhilirated
at my crime
I dipped
my bottle
quickly
and capped it
with a smile
I taped a bold
handwritten note
upon its side
which read:
Your falls
have been
lessened
Then I pondered
who to
send it
to

My strength is in my practiced cadence
that strides long over pot-holes
and short down intermittent curbs
all equaled out on the long
long straight flat distances
that take me out beyond
familiarity.

I have no memory of this place
the map edge of my mind warns
here be dragons
but my strength is practiced cadence
which pays such scant attention
to my rational/irrational mind
that there is not even
the small laugh of irony.

The pain begins before I am aware of it
as it too is subsumed in
the strength of my practiced cadence
but my doubt is stronger than
my faith
and fear of how much damage
I may do to myself
is only dulled by the knowledge
of my pre-determined time.

As the alarm approaches zero
I wonder if my soul would dissipate?
If I would find the spiral
into some other place
where all I am at present
becomes meaningless–
speed, pain, time, breath
and strength
the earth-bound strength
of my practiced cadence
I am not even torn
or slightly distracted
as the timer beeps
I turn around
and head back
to the place
from which I started.

She lost her first song
Somewhere in the driving rain
While someone listened

This road, by its firm, flat existence
admits of the presence of other people
whether yesterday or just beyond
my own short horizon
they have been here; they are here
with me now
upon, within
the solid rock and planned layers
the movement up and down
this valley’s natural contours

Damn this road
and how it wanders
through a calm and peaceful place
while mocking my solitude
I spit to profane the sacred path
to proclaim my own holiness
where future pilgrims
will in ignorance trespass

I am alone, I cry inside my mind
where the road does not exist
but my feet disagree
and quietly arbitrate my relationship
with this road
this never-ending road