Author Archives: Zak

the key
is in my pocket.
when i touch
the handle of the door,
it unlocks.

sitting
inside
a parked car
on a public street
outside
a small city park.

the sky clears,
the sun rises,
the temperature falls.

you always keep
your phone
on silent,

there aren’t any
others
just like you.

there are a
few hundred thousand
others
just like you.

woodsmoke
hangs low
and blue.

i could not
practice law
as all i can
manage
is, should
something
be done,
or
shouldn’t it.

steam streams
from the warming
wood.

every day
you wake up,

the air smells
of local burning.

massive slabs
of stone.

in the morning
you warm up
last night’s tea.

it can take time
to cut the strings.

if sleep is
sleek
and sporadic,
another way
you can recover
is to find
a small box
made of wood.

a white cat
sometimes
appears.

we fell in love
because i had
cancer.

someone
i love
leaves me,
so
i feel
pain.

it isn’t
practice,
and then
wisdom.

the forecast
calls for snow
but what falls
is a mixture
of rain and ice.

river and tree.
wind and root.

in the morning,
just as soon as
your version
of consciousness
returns to you,
you think of it.

many miles
to walk.

not really so
interested
in signs
and symbols;
every day is
mahamudra

and when you have
thoughts
you’d like to share,
you would share them.

and with the warming,
more rain
in the rain forest.