Teacher
Live oak swathes the valley oak
My father, his frumpy pants; all walk together
In the dust of this road
I am learning how to place my feet
Jackrabbits shiver, wastefully aroused
by the burrow-holes where Buddy walks
Nature is a communion of
subjects, not a collection of objects
A high-pitched whine in the zendo
I spoon water on a Tassajara boulder
In the crook of this chair
I am learning how to sit in myself
Rinpoche, for all your rousing creativity
you too strove to numb and sleep
But what a burden to bear
I cannot imagine speak- well, that is a lie
But what a question answered
to see the Dharma & crash your sports-car
My new account - some poetry, mostly other things. Hopefully typography soon!














