Last Splinter

Last Splinter The fire needs to be lit in the chill, late summer night. When I come back to the room hundreds of tiny slivers cling to my palm from holding the wrong kind of bark. One at a time I pull them out, but an hour later something’s still bothering me. I...

Harvest

Harvest Today it is the world’s abundance I remember. The squash swollen and yellow and sweet among the dried vines. The mound of firewood growing daily in the shed. Twists of sage and rosemary hanging over the stove. It is easy to forget the middle of winter, the...

Bones

Bones What are these bones that crack and ache under my flesh? I know their names: scapula, fibula, metacarpals. I’ve heard them spoken of as roots, as branches. What should these words mean to me? Now I believe that I’m not my bones. They are hollow,...
Watching the Whirling Dervishes

Watching the Whirling Dervishes

Watching the Whirling Dervishes (Konya, Turkey, 1971) whatever urge i have toward transcendence was likely born then no church of my childhood no buddhist temple in thailand had prepared me for this music and dance and meditation merged into a single repeating motion...

Talk

Talk I want to talk about the distance between a finger and its ring, the pulse in our throats, a river rushing over its banks. I want to talk about the grain of a picture, the texture of its light, the light a diver sees in twenty feet of clear water, the light that...