Rain, gentle and slow
Without a thought. Or worry.
For the distant train.
Every morning
And every evening passing
What does it mean
Light on a table
Dim and yellow
Rain at the window
We are
so many photos
of you and me together.
a slow, tired dog
and his master waiting, cold
not best friends.
the old fireplace
welcomes us, cold and tired.
crackling, softly.
dark grey against blue
miles away still from this prairie
jagged, cold horizon.
one bold sentence.
read with a silent smile.
echos my mind still.
books, musty from age
in this silent, sacred place
minds, open wide.
evening, late autumn
pale blue sky and no stars
all the birds silent
rumble on the tracks
a distant train - its horn
cuts through the cold night.
Not just
A new chapter
Burning the book.
A lone cyclist
Rides faster than the cars
Clear winter evening
Left, right. Right, left.
Strangers once walking now dancing.
Excuse me...no,excuse ME.
I quit.
Or rather, i will work tmorrow
Somewhere else.
the emptiness of being apart
Makes us remember.
words in an email
Anxiety delivered
Books on the table
Disheveled as my hair
Spilled coffee
a cool stream rushes
over my feet and toes
setting sun, light breeze.
At dawn from the hill
a fog hangs in the valley
thunder rolls slowly.
alone on the path
a slow mile walked in the forest
to greet the morning
a watch shows the time
ticking, slipping, fading, gone.
be present and live.
Morning city street
The masses going to work
Monks pray for them, too
A busy cafe
Business men in a hurry
As i sit, sipping.
Crickets sing, moonlight
On the surface of the lake
A lone fish splashes
In a forest, still
Trees ages old feel the wind
But have no worry
Lost in an ocean
Anger Struggles flailing arms
At peace you can float
A ripe summer vine
Over gentle rolling hills
morning due on grapes

lost in the crowd

seated in a cafe
listening to the whirrrr of the machine
dishes clang, strangers smile.


zen is the sunlight
and a flower opening
so effortlessly.


cars driving wet street
outside my wet cell window
I sit, just staring.


pebbles in the sand
and the wind blowing my hair
distant birds singing


Zen is not anxious
it is the space inside me
breathing timelessly.

nightime walk

walnut street winter
movement and people walking
then came cold night rain.

la pluie

vite, la pluie tombe
des nuages d'un ciel gris
vers fleuves coulantes vite.
fast, rain is falling
from the clouds in a gray sky
toward streams flowing fast.
rush of cold water
quickly surging over me
I submerge myself

good day

I had a good day
it was the last thing I said
before I left work

les feuilles de l'automne / the leaves of autumn

les feuilles tombent de l'arbe
et le vent fraiche a soufflé
le parfum d'automne
leaves fall from the tree
and the cool wind is blowing
the smell of autumn