1.
I awaken and sit on the side of my bed,
briefly considering my options for the day.
After a moment, the mind goes quiet.
It is nice, just sitting here, quietly.
The day turns into night, and then
it is day again, and years go by.
I don’t comb my hair, I don’t listen
to the news, I don’t answer the phone.
It is nice, just sitting here, quietly.
Then I think: “Maybe I should do something.”
I lie down and pull the sheet
back over my sleepy head.
2.
It seems for a moment that someone
is with me, looking out through my eyes,
drinking my coffee, thinking my thoughts.
I try to find this person, but it is futile.
How much futility transpires between
the moment we first open our eyes,
and the moment we close them?
When the little dog licks my face,
nobody else is there.
It’s a soft lick, as if the animal is tasting
the universe for the first time, tentatively.
Unless we become like little dogs, our tastes
will become jaded, our hearts sorrowful,
as if someone else is living our life,
and we can’t get it back.
3.
There is a kind of forgiveness
nobody else can grant us.
We want to be forgiven
for being born.
We do not know how
we got to wherever this is.
Still, we carry a secret guilt
for merely being here.
The religions say it must be so,
we’re born in sin, and we believe it.
Even when we realize those stories
are made up, the shame persists —
woe is me, I have a body!
I want to stand up and tell the mirror,
“Yes, you are forgiven!”
The face in the mirror smiles back,
says nothing, just smiles.
Somehow it has known all along,
I am only talking to myself.
4.
The words of the holy ones
ceased long ago to console me.
I was shown what that amounts to —
a torn-off leaf in the wind.
Still, there’s a certain kind of knowledge:
an Asian Pear tree grows in my yard.
It was planted by the one I love,
the one who makes my heart bloom.
Late in August, I will reach high up
and pick one with my own hands.
When I taste it, I know right away
whether or not the fruit is ripe and ready.
Feeling To Infinity 