Tuesday, April 18, 2017

                                                       Nichiren, Izu Exile (1261)

—lava fan of ┼îmuroyama!

4,000 years of rain and wind,
wave salt and sun

to make towering Kesakake Pines,
knotted Wax Myrtle
and musk of fern and litter
of old, old wild cherries blooming

deep polished cleaves
of black stone spilling fresh streams
into cheek pink blush 
of barnacles in blue clean 
wash of shallows 

Futo town didn't spring up
but more flowed down
with lava spill around the older
Harai volcano

For decades fishermen in huts
on pumice cliffs
spotting Mullet schools,
flag waved signals
for boatmen to herd the fish to shoal

walking across land
that spread out like a wave


exiled monk
cast on wave torn jut
of cooled basalt prisms

a volcano offers more than molten earth

a love that smells of sea water

Sunday, October 2, 2016

sleep facing south in october

so that when the cupped moon is low

great sweeps of the sky

are presided over by mute darknesses

and the Dog star weans the morning

Tuesday, September 13, 2016

for kalachandra

dark sky because 
the moon is with the sun
darkest when it's with whats lightest

when the dark moons path
sends it back to us with light
it's as a smile on the evening

Friday, August 5, 2016


       The gulls are howling over Fort Sq.

       Its worse than you probably imagined

       About how vast and tiny can a world become?

       At least there're still the wild cherry trees
             along the roadsides
             the dark rocks in Lanesville
             and the sea
             as willing in its depth

       I wish that sunlight, and what was said about it, were enough

       The gulls are screaming on the briny wind
       You could hear them
        clear across
               the harbor

                                                                                     August 4th



Sunday, June 19, 2016

continuations of a cloud theme

a heat in June
brings butterflies to the city

give your ambitions
the patience of clouds
--lightness comes to
those who wait around for it

the air not in the shadows
of buildings or trees
keeps hot in the high June sun

like butterflies, the heat
and clouds
     change every time
     the wind touches you

Sunday, May 22, 2016


the high snow well into spring keeps the gorges
below Mt. Norikura loud and rushing

to climb there you'll have to pass the wild azalea
and listen to a cuckoos drumming all morning

if the water-bananas are blooming keep your eyes
on the meadows for the pale flash of a Siberian Bunting

and just when your feet are tired of stumbling over 
knotted hemlock roots and up the birch lined ridgebacks

you'll come to rest under the resounding 
sun mist radiance and falling wind of Sobundaki falls

cleansed a little by the spray of Norikuras waters
you'll think fondly of starting home

Sunday, May 1, 2016

may day

morning comes like a bouquet
of flowers hung on the front door

jasmine, rose
and musty eucalyptus

may day! may day!
all the light goes
back to one star flowering

may day! may day!
all the sounds go
back to one sound ushering

we wrap our colored ribbons
against the always turning year

Monday, April 18, 2016

                      as much as in the city
                      as deep out in the hills
                      or even as where
                      a lone bull rests
                      in the meadow
                      aglow with pale oxalis

                      the sparrows all are chattering
                      with the fervency of spring

Monday, April 13, 2015


so long as the blood
keeps its course

how can we go away?

the hearts minerals
are paramagnets;

all it takes is a field

a field we've walked through
but don't know how to leave

the aching of pulling blood

from blood. its not a matter
of whose body it's in

where and what the mind says

but the dull, round pain
of magnesium and molybdenum

separating is that of trying our good-bye

Saturday, November 1, 2014

in october i could see
the bones of autumn

death was with the eucalyptus
and the sun leaned into the beige
skeletons of star thistles

i suddenly remembered that
you are my sister when
the feathered seeds of coyote bushes
sailed past me in the clear, light wind