Untitled, composed on the road in Wyoming in late 2014

the last of

the dying 

breath. think of that.

i think douglas fir is the shadow of god espaliered.

perfect stillness

and the rising and falling

and how good things multiply of themselves, bonum diffusivum est


i wake each night under Ursa Major

and each night too Lyrid meteors arc thru it

and the firs frame the dream - mandala -

as if gnarled fingers of the old earth cupped.


every night i rise to meet it one or more parts or the more of the whole of me


o lord i jumble myself before you

i am a solitary daisy cleaved to your chest.

you, love, are not god.

but an eddy, a form constantly      wondrously



overcome me         swirl away