Don’t Be A Stranger
Each passing moment a petal of orchid
falls off from its merry bunch
down the table. The ceiling fan loses
its steam, breaks down, and weeps for
youthful days. The fire on the stove sometimes
acts weird, rises up to grab a piece
of your fear. In the bedroom the pillow
would talk well into the night
and you can’t ever grasp their meanings.
Season comes, season goes as we say.
The plane departs and something is taken
away. The street gutter runs slick
with memories, the rain comes looking for its
meaning, a son seeing his lost mother
in the face of his child- all for the act
of remembering, and of course, the heavenly
way of loving.
The vault of time tosses about in the ocean,
someone sings a happy song
and the roaches agree: all creatures are blessed
and full of knowing; When something goes
we pull it back from its state of unknowing.
We fall from grace, it’s all right, no rush
for the dark, from the voices within
we hear as well the virtue of forgiving:
A hand meets a hand and peace is gained,
a cup gets filled, emptied, filled.
It’s all a matter of being aware and not
taking to a life of forgetting.
12 May 2003
Phnom Penh, Cambodia