More More More

from:

The Bodhisattva Who Lost His Way

I saw the Way – just for a moment – but I lost it. How do I express myself in the restricted world? If I had chosen differently – school, relationship, jobs moves – would subsequent choices come more easily?

singing the perpetual question
brown bird in the snow

Somewhere behind the clouds the sun has risen. But this early morning light seems somehow more like dusk. The clouds ride high, snow covers the island – old snow. The parking lot lights are still shining. The world is blue as if evening is falling. No squirrels work the snow, no seagulls wheel over the island, no ducks make their noisy way through the river.

two crows flying low
over the parking lot
a snowflake hits the window

my breath freezing
to the windshield
white out