sinew and cold
steel and crystal
scraping up stone
sinking in snow

so you're back in
so you forgot
snow on your brow
sweat melts it off

gravity goes one way
you go the other, and
water is the stuff of life
so drink it up

and rage, boy, rage. but remember. "it's most 
wonderful to be cold with your closest friends"

how does one size a life
i want a small life
she says i think 
i want an enormous life

lying sprawled under books, limbs entangled
speaking of new worlds entire
the details of your imagination
are my world now

tracing the curves of your body and joins
with fingers tongues and teeth
we laugh and chat and stroke the copses of 
each others’ electric fur

we ramble over the wild yonder, have
revelations in landscapes 
oft o'er the chawing void
together, thrilling and risking

and music! Oh, we shall have our relishes
bluegrass stomping, quiet symphonies
tasting your sweaty, breathy, grazing nearness 
in BASS thundering BASS thrumming BASS

with you, i could have an enormous life

die a little
with every disappointment
or find what never dies 
and has no preferences

try a little 
and keep illusion going
or see the futility of effort
and stop pushing on nothing

be happy a little
now and then when circumstance allows
or rest in the source of happiness
now, then and always

believe a little 
that you are someone
or notice there is no separate one
nor any limit to being

love a little 
with half a heart
or let love have it all
filling the heart to overflowing

If you are a poet, you will see clearly that 
there is a cloud floating in this sheet of paper. 
Without a cloud, there will be no rain; 
without rain, the trees cannot grow: 
and without trees, we cannot make paper. 
The cloud is essential for the paper to exist.
If the cloud is not here, the sheet of paper 
cannot be here either. 

A human being is part of a whole, 
called by us the “Universe,” 
a part limited in time and space. 

He experiences himself, 
his thoughts and feelings, as 
something separated from the rest —a kind 
of optical delusion of his consciousness. 

This delusion is a kind of prison for us, 
restricting us to our personal 
desires and to affection for a few persons 
nearest us. 

Our task must be to free ourselves
from this prison by widening our 
circles of compassion to embrace
all living creatures and the whole of 
nature in its beauty.

I learned about a supernova,
the brightest point before the end:
a star’s luminous coda,
its bold finale to life fervent.

we delighted in icy winds together,
brothers bound, a rope between.
courage, stupidity, no matter whether,
we simply loved each other’s keen.

today, running up a hillside breathless,
a kaleidoscope of memory,
every kind of grief’s caress,
yet again, cast out to sea!

now, it's sad to miss you Mike, but for ages hence,
i'll let ‘em know, you burned hot, nothing but magnificence.

in spring, we sow
in summer, we tend
in fall, we harvest
in winter -- we enjoy.

i was talking to a moth
the other evening
he was trying to break into
an electric light bulb
and fry himself on the wires

why do you fellows
pull this stunt i asked him
because it is the conventional
thing for moths or why
if that had been an uncovered
candle instead of an electric
light bulb you would
now be a small unsightly cinder
have you no sense

plenty of it he answered
but at times we get tired
of using it
we get bored with the routine
and crave beauty
and excitement
fire is beautiful
and we know that if we get
too close it will kill us
but what does that matter
it is better to be happy
for a moment
and be burned up with beauty
than to live a long time
and be bored all the while
so we wad all our life up
into one little roll
and then we shoot the roll
that is what life is for
it is better to be a part of beauty
for one instant and then cease to
exist than to exist forever
and never be a part of beauty
our attitude toward life
is come easy go easy
we are like human beings
used to be before they became
too civilized to enjoy themselves

and before i could argue him
out of his philosophy
he went and immolated himself
on a patent cigar lighter
i do not agree with him
myself i would rather have
half the happiness and twice
the longevity

but at the same time i wish
there was something i wanted
as badly as he wanted to fry himself

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
of sun-split clouds,—and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of—wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air ....

Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark nor ever eagle flew—
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

rocks are exciting 
because rocks are verbs.

motion and action 
captured over eons,
eruption, erosion, 
deposition, precipitation.

take, for example, 
an opal I found the other day
a kaleidoscope of hues
unique from every direction

this little rock
a small memory in hand
will, from now until my end,

add color to my life --
memory of past action,
frozen in time, 
   yes, yet
warming my heart

elevated tempers 
loosen the cinch on allowable words 
wishy-washy thoughts spill, almost accidentally
into speech 

like wilty carrots
bending this way and that, never snapping, 
spongy, losing taste,
do i even mean what i say,
say what i mean

but written words 
captured in ink or bits
(the former preferable)
sharp and crisp
give me something crisp to chew on

the written word
is how i know best
or - at least -
get as close to knowing as ill ever get

so i’ve started eating more carrots 
to remind me - just write

definition: fully mature
definition: rich, intense

yup.

wonderful rhythms
pressed together, no space between
energetic in a way
that just felt right
that just felt ripe

I’m so curious
to find out more
about this woman
about her other, utter joys in life

I woke up to spring snow
buds and shoots and twigs collecting waterlogged flakes
the plants, they must be so chilly
yet still they grow
even on moody days like today

like me, walking along a creek path through it
snow collecting on my hair, I
feel the cold, see 
the youthful green

as I turn and, 
the same wet flakes now slap my skin on my return
melting, reminding 
of fundamental, physical change

this season 
cold and wet, or
warm and sunny

either way, it’s verdant, 
through
and through,
and new,
and growth begets change 

now minus 280 million years equals
the time when the Fountain was deposited
in gushing rivers, pregnant with coarse grit
laying it flat to rest in one thick sedimentary package 
over time horizons unfathomable

Yesterday, today, tomorrow
all times I fathom, 
the Flatirons, 
jut up to fill my vision, everywhere here at home

ironed to red by years of the geologic pressures of deep burial
their shoulders donned in ponderosa green (i love those trees)
splotched lime by lichen (boulders oldest inhabitants)

they play often with light and shadow, air and water
crisp autumn sunsets juxtapose shadows and filtered lightbeams 
a white veil after winter storms
multilayered cloud decks settle over in spring,
    and foggy tendrils search
then in dry summers, plumes of heavy smoke 

and, wherever I choose to play at home,
when I touch the variegated rocks with hand and foot, 
feel ancient gritstone splayed out above, below, beyond,
it is as if I am suddenly floating, and both color and spirit
rush up to meet me, to awe me, 
with the goodness of this place

at 5:47a, I rush out the door
down the winding blacktop 
past bungalows of the California coast  
kissed good morning by tendrils of fog 

winding my way through the neighborhood
I grunt and let grief and rage
carry me forth on pavement, until

I reach the trail, step on dirt, 
cross into the eucalypt forest
moist, and fragrant 
a few birds are chirping, 
each note nibbles away the edges of my anger
the trees -- my stoic friends -- take a few bites too
I love you, forest

my feet pound the fine dirt
the track up crosses into chaparral
I burst into sunrise above the marine layer
hello, sun, i’m happy to see you today

up to the top of the scrubby ridge,
a quick summit and glance around
and down, to the west
manzanita tickling my calves 
and i see flowers, wild flowers
I am calm enough now, to smile
thank you, flowers

back into the cloud, perched over the ocean
down down down, fast feels good
a ridgeline with scarce oaks, to a point, where,
there
three hundred feet below, on either side
is her,
the pacific

I stand there a while
below, the tumult, the rocks carried by waves 
eroding the land further, 
she has worn away this rocky coast slowly, geologically

I also see from this precipice
eternity, faith and grace

before turning back 
I shed a tear for each and think
peace be with you, pacific ocean,
and in her way, thrum thrum thrum, 
she says, “and peace be with you”

the thing about it, isn’t that 
	I want you with everything I’ve got

nor, is it the easy smiles, 
	the warmth, the wonder
		you bring to my day
		without even knowing it

the thing, I think, is that I’m
	so damn excited
	to lie there with you
	and share our life force
		bit-by-bit, and totally
		all, at once.

bengal spice has
	cinnamon
	cardamom
	cloves

blended in a way that suffuses me
with sweetness & calm

I think to your kitchen
of pressing my face into so many 
parts of your body
Inhaling
and thinking

damn. 
that’s one spicy tiger