HANDS
10 A.M.
Sitting out here on the back porch
where one acre's expanse
is easily one hundred
and the stock pond is Gulfport
and the clump of pine and oak
ten yards from Dog's house
is safari we never took,
I speak plain and long to Dog
about all this. His tail swishes anyway
in a casual indifference that is antidote
to both of us as long as my hand
lolls over the chair arm
in rubbing proximity of wet nose
and a crappie ripples the water for shad,
and drifting slow from the warm cup
is Saturday.
1st, 2006, Published
APPLAUSE
what is the sound
of one hand clapping
…Zen koan It isn’t the sound of left hand slapping knee that reaches the ear. One must sit close for the strangeness of that to disturb. It is the lifetime of loneliness in the swish of air before hand meets knee, the broad palm taking on voice in an urge to express the surge of joy that must be released; the acceptance of eye tracing each line, capturing the wisdom that blossoms from need. It is the space between bud and full bloom, between falling leaf and earth’s response, between loss and awareness that brings palm to knee in loud amens for what was taken and what is left. NFSPS, 2009 PUB |