Tag Archives: darshan

This (blade of grass)

The bottom half folds into the stem the way
some tongues do, cupping a soft streak 
of shadow. 

The top half glistens with sparkle 
and subtle sun glaze. It bends forward 
to a slightly drooping tip. Beneath it 
hangs a bold sphere 
of dew;       

                  It could be any 
              blade of grass, but its not 
                         just any 
                     blade of grass,                its this 
             blade of grass

 here before me as the sun hovers above the canopy
                   to cheerfully greet
                        this day, this breath,                   this 
             blade of grass

 that through chance or circumstance or something 
             has enchanted me into a beauty
                       so deep
            that {even if it could 
                           get any better}

all I really want 
is this.


It’s the subtlest of the subtle
that we give our hearts to-

deeper than a smile, softer
than an eyelash,

the way a cat’s paws
barely lend their weight
to the mattress,

the way they prowl
with those slow
swooning purs,

the way they gently nudge
two sleeping eyes


I see a bright crescent
forming like a smile
at the bottom of your
pupil. (This is how pain
condenses to

I unwrap the wool from
my body and allow
this thick nectar
to soak
through my skin.

Collapsing the Distance

This is what Thank You means-
it is when the pores become 
             so wide
that the wind 
can slip through the skin
and tickle the heart.

It is acceptance
with Love.

And it draws our surroundings
closer- the chair, the ocean,
the trees... it brings them

It holds the atoms in my body
together, and now holds
your atoms
to mine.

The Way the Earth is Lit

I have heard it was said
by them of old time
that the Moon
borrows her light
from the Sun.

But I say
a beauty as great as the Moon’s
inspires a great lover,
and it was this muse
that sparked the Sun’s flame.

The Sun’s sweet ballads
of love and longing
share the Moon
with all of us, and
in that sharing we are

given hope
that we too can find
such a beauty
to ignite us
into existence.


…it is Thank You
and I Love You, it is Joy and it is
Yes! it is the rising sun revealing
a soft pair of hands
sprinkling salt on the


I tried to be a saint once; it didn’t
work. So now I carry
a pocketful of zippers
when I walk into town.

I lay them on the sidewalk
and pull on their sliders, separating
the concrete to reveal

the sweet mystery of light and sound
that bounces between bamboo
stalks when played upon
by the wind.


Let me touch my
lips to your cheek, so
I may swallow your tears.
Then, maybe
they will enter my bloodstream,
and I can finally feel
your preciousness
with my entire


What I most want to do tonight
is wrestle the sky, grab a hold
of a good-sized
and wring it like a
wet rag
for a single drop
of light.


Can we be bonded by a faith like this?
where our own existence
is enough? and our faults
seem to vanish
in it's ocean of magnificence
the way a mosquito
seems to vanish
as it dances
across the sun?
This here we are
     is the gateway
into a Love
     so abundant
that ripe plums
     weigh their branches
to hover above
     our cupped hands.

I may have reasons for doubt,
but those plums... so deliciously full, so ready
to burst! ...they seem to say


No true poet
claims to create beauty;
he discovers it
the way a tambura player
that perfect place on the string
to stroke.

Deep within your soul
there is an antique table
where the two Buddhas, Sorrow and Joy,
sit to have tea.

Their arms rest on the table’s edges
as they lean close to each other’s eyes.

Within their intensity
lies four golden strings
to be played.


I am in one of those moods again
where I just want to kiss
anything that moves.

I would even kiss the Sun
if he would let me, but instead
he has climbed down his own
sunbeam and nestled in my heart.

Now when I kiss the plants,
the insects, or the Moon,
they burn
into stars.

This is what you
are yearning for, dear lover.
Just lean closer, and let me
kiss you
into who

you really are.

True Conversion

True conversion
is not the swapping of words,
the trading of dogma
or the switching of casings
that harden the heart.

It is when the shells shatter
from a swelled heart blossoming
that we are truly born again.

what It is

Sometimes at night,
or in the early morning when
dim-orange streetlamps
reflect off wet pavement,
and silent breeze
becomes truly silent,
I finally see a tree
as a tree,
and my footsteps sound real.