I Thought, That Day I

A Reading Is A Kind Of Communion. The Poet Articulates The Semi-known For The Tribe.

Bearing In His Right Paw The Shovel That Digs To The Truth Beneath Appearances, Cut The Roots Of Useless Attachments, And Flings Damp Sand On The Fires Of Greed And War; His Left Paw In The Mudra Of Comradely Display - Indicating That All Creatures Have The Full Right To Live To Their Limits And That Deer, Rabbits, Chipmunks, Snakes, Dandelions, And Lizards All Grow In The Realm Of The Dharma.

All Those Years And Their Moments— Crackling Bacon, Slamming Car Doors, Poems Tried Out On Friends, Will Be One More Archive, One More Shaky Text.

Burning The Small Dead Branches Broke From Beneath Thick Spreading Whitebark Pine. A Hundred Summers Snowmelt Rock And Air Hiss In A Twisted Bough.

After Weeks Of Watching The Roof Leak I Fixed It Tonight By Moving A Single Board