Throw it away, now that you've drifted across. Do you still need it? But how could you discard such a precious tool? Sure seems rude. When did I think that simply knowing was enough? Was I deluded? Form is emptiness. Likewise, emptiness is form. You know?
What have I “expressed”if my words only stay long enough to use me?If “I” speak, why that’s news to me. I always thought it was just the wind.
Emerald luster fades as each new year passes. Will it shine again? I look out as dawn reveals the trees, and I'm not so sure. The moon is always there, concealed by the sun's light. More patient than me. What else might we find, patient, waiting for the light to dim?
Weeds were here before anyone thought to pull them. And why pull them now? Furrows ooze a thick, fertile scent. Can you smell it, on the tractor?
Watch the leaves falling, and say only that they tried. Trite, to say, "next year!"We inherit theruins inescapably. And there we find gold.
Broadly speaking - but how else to speak? About things? Or about Things? I didn't want to feel poems intersecting me to speak. Alas.
It was only a matter of time. Darkness fell, and I saw clearly. Words spoke me, and I listened; the darkness glowed, revealing. If you're quiet they speak to you, but not out loud. Stones stone, and air breathes. You don't learn anything from seeking. Wait, I tell you. Wait.
Heat still thick at noon, but late cicadas gone. Now, emerald air hums. Could you tell, then, that summer was ending when the flowers all still bloomed?
Wasting good sadness, to weep for a lost world you hated anyway. Save your tears for what illuminates and sucks dry the mystery: Being.
Today's last poem - but that isn't really true. They spread, like bamboo. Get thee behind me! I turn and see only the words on the next page.