for burton watson
how did i fail to notice that you were on
my nightstand, the night you stepped into the spring?
never having left my village home,
pictures of far-off lands inform my dreams.
how did i fail to notice that you were on
my nightstand, the night you stepped into the spring?
never having left my village home,
pictures of far-off lands inform my dreams.
after years of drought,
weeds and flowers both look sweet.
pause, and reassess.
here’s my aspiration (to be clear):
to put my arm around these guys
who want to run the show, and tell them “thanks
for trying, but really, notice
that the folks don’t thrive the way you’re going,
and hey, you’re better suited for
this other task, that folks will thank you for,
and hold in high regard.”
help me, folks, to find that task. to make
a place for all the awkward ones
to find the love they seek, however off
the mark that last try landed.
plantain flowers draw
their stems upright, above the
tall grass, toward the sun.
buddha’s birthday. spring
requests a song. we respond,
along with plum trees.