230–Third Eye Laughing

fairly early in my life i learned
that what these eyes can see
is just the beginning like the
ice cap of an iceberg warning
of what is possible, but by no
means the whole picture
now sometimes i forget to
see with this beyond sence
this third eye of god that
laughs hard and sees mostly
light and believes in everything
that says love

229-Prayer or Explosion?

i pray but now i know what i am doing
is changing my mind learning to shift
my position listen more carefully
to the voices that sing through the
night listen to instruction that comes
like a message from a parallel universe
things don’t just happen they unfold
in the heart beating toward consciousness
letting go of all the former ways to
explode into the joy of reality

Vivian Learns First Person Possessive

Two bad mitten rackets.
The orange one,
she hands to me.

The red one
she holds in her fist
and says, Mine.

It’s the first time
she says the word,
her introduction

to the language of want—
beyond naming the object
she shapes her desire

on her tongue and
pronounces the thing
as hers. And I gather my girl

into my arms and hold her
as if to say what words
can not—that we can

not ever own anything,
not really. We can hold
a thing for a while. We can

label it ours. We draw up deeds,
extract promises, build cages
and walls, we fashion golden rings.

But everything slips through
our hands eventually. There is
no part of speech to explain this,

no translation for the way that
things change. And they do.
Like a girl who just yesterday

couldn’t say Mine. Like this woman
who loses what she once thought
she had, watching the world

as it shifts, one syllable at a time.

228–Poet or Farmer?

i want to know why it is that
in this vast expanse of creation
i am here writing it seems like
such a useless occupation like
making speeches instead of sowing seeds

guess i'm not as much of a farmer
as i'd like to be though i love the thrill of 
tending an ailing blueberry bush
giving it the right acidy push
seeing the strawberries turn beauty
red the sweet plums plumming
for the first time mixed with an
orgasm of basil and rosemary

tomatoes mixed with flowers and prayers
mulched against the coming long hot
summer i have worked myself to the 
wet bone repairing the sprinkling system
piling on the mulch pleading with each stem
and bloom to feel loved and linger here with us

five years out this will be a food forest
but for now i love the first artichoke streaking
up to heaven on a slender shaft i adore
the bright red orange blooms on the
pomegranate that is not quite mature enough
to turn the blossoms into fruit yet
hibiscus and peach avocado and orange

i kiss this gorgeous ground that holds the
micro and macro life of eucalyptus trees
and tiny organisms i can't see but still
i love to know may you be as blessed as we
are to have you here, from the hawk family
high up in the tree to the squirrel that
steals the birdseed to one and a half-year old
Sammy who loves to spray water and sing in his swing
we are such a oneness of community a living
choir of praise and need and fullness
living here in Woodland Hills, California under the red hot sun

As If Each Wound Might Blossom

Beneath the honey locust,
I practiced watching the clouds
both expand and contract

in the open sky. It is like that,
I told myself, the way you and I
hold each other and let each other go

at the same time. With the same hands,
we grasp and release. With the same
words, we emerge and we hide. Our bodies

become both altar and offering.
Our love is both curse and bliss.
I want to be vast enough to contain all this,

to be unfrightened by paradox. I want to bow
to the great What Is. But I’m small.
And impatient. Oh rats. I watch the clouds

as they shift from reptilian skeletons
to long white fingers outstretched.
It happens so imperceptibly, the change.

And I want to force it, to push it,
to fix it, to craft the world as I want.
And the sooner the better.

I want some answers, now.
But the answers are usually questions.
I’m not trying to be glib. But the closer

I get to what I know, the less I know of it.