the bay breezes through my room,
and a pen rolls across the bureau
so, so slowly
while a note glides lightly, gently
to the foot of my bed.
green springs trickle through the bamboo
knocking against the porch
as though it were wrapped in a blanket.
the bright night illuminates;
and just beyond the tide's reaching touch
the dunes bow softly into the hillside.
jasmine and willow sway above the pond
where a turtle—
high priest of this garden,
rests like me on a ripple
a meditation, a prayer
a thought not born into speech.
a toad bellows low in the reed beds,
fireflies linger in the air;
and a dandelion ascends
as some do in September
rising into the dark light.
the fat yellow moon pulls his eyelids down,
tonight's silver ghost cups me in her hands;
bliss dripping like dew from her fingers
and I succumb to her relentless serenity—
the unsparing comfort of sedation.
the cadence of the clock,
like footsteps on the bare floor
taps out a beat—
the pulse of nature, of some divinity
nesting somewhere near;
a mass for the living
blessed in its subjectivity,
mercy and compassion.
a spanish guitar floats its voices here
from a campsite on the beach,
as if it were a memory
unplugged from the dissonance of age
coming humbly, joyfully home—
all of life's perfections
distilled to its finest hour
the wind loosens the drapes
unfolding like wings in the doorway
as the humble turtle hums
and a leaf drifts by
so, so slowly...