House of Dreams

5

A leaf lies down
in a broken
corner
and fills me
with a sudden
silence.

I revise
our scrimshaw history
carving fresh tales
on the ivory
of new found bones.

6

A vixen
hunts for my remains.

She digs deep
at midnight
unearthing
the decaying teeth
you buried with
my borrowed
head.

Comment:

None of this makes sense. Why should it? Don’t ask me to explain it to you. Who am I to tell you what to think and what to do? You are not in elementary school now. Teacher is not leaning over you, teaching you how to shape letters with a pen, telling you to color in red, or yellow, or orange.

Learning – tell me what have you learned? Have you learned to think for yourself? Have you learned that life is mysterious, joyful, sad? Do you not know it can also be incredibly dangerous? Fear not the thunder. Rejoice in the rain and snow. Open your eyes to the world around you and be joyous wherever you go.

Meditation

I am the gatherer of words,
the weaver of wooly clouds.

I am the sheep dog
who shepherds the flock
in and out of the field.

I am the corgi
who snaps at the heels
of cows and pigs,
too small to be noticed.

I am the butterfly
turned into an eagle
who soars into the sky
and gazes on the sun
with an open eye.

Tell me,
my friend,
what and who
are you?