Forgetting

Why do my fingers
and my eyes
itch every now and then,
to steady a balance,
to still a pendulum,
to watch a compass,
to catch myself or another
from falling or flying?

Why this obsession
to change,
to correct,
to moderate,
to still
everything that moves,
and to move
everything that's still?

Why do my fingers
and my eyes,
strike out
like roving tentacles,
overpowering,
and encasing
my gentle heart
from the swell?

Have they forgotten
how to reach out
to touch the stillness,
the mystery,
and purpose
of the dazzling stars
in the liquid firmament,
that explode into laughter
while they watch over
a sleepy ocean?

Samurai

and the wind asked the tree,
rooted between seasons -
which leaf would be
the next one to go;
and the leaves
they began to dance
and sing their swan song,
while the tree watched on
in a quiet celebration,
knowing it was time
for each warrior
to lay his life down
upon his sword.