Saturday, July 20, 2013


We think we become the teacher.

Go here, do that.

A trout leaps from the pond and plashes back, silver and cursive.

The momma duck leads her near-grown ducklings into the reeds.

She says, the mind is always creating, even in deep sleep, and what is is always aware of its creations.

How far I have to go!

Sentence after sentence, life after life, like clouds following one another across the prairie and towards the sea.

I am heavy and dense, like a pregnant buffalo.

She urges me to consolidate and also not to soften.

You have so far to go, she says, without rancor or judgment.

At dawn I go out and listen to the rooster.

At dawn I go out and worry about the future and the past.

Often she leans against the maple tree, as if tired.

Always I am afraid I will disappoint her.

Let what does not serve go, she urges.

I stay under water as long as possible.

When I call her at 3 a.m. she listens.

I am breathless at each fold - each rustling - in her pale sari.

The breeze moves me deeper into the river.

Neither tears nor poetry move her.

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