Between Longing and Being

in the first brush
of orange on inky blue,
in the parted beak
of a koel setting a tune,
in the fading call
of crickets
lulled by the morning breeze,
in the cry of a heart
that wants to call
something it cannot own,
its own,
rests
the silent grave
and womb
between
longing
and being.

Falling Into Myself

and I fall
with the cherry blossoms
in their prime,
joining a dance
with the moist earth,
unfettered
by longings
or flattery,
crushed
by impervious feet
and stone hearts,
who know not yet,
the beauty and joy
of this quiet
impermanence.

The Wave

and I hold myself
in the depths of who I am,
choosing to stay
in the midst of the swell,
to be the wave
who never reached the shore.

In the Blue of the Flame

I don't want
to sit around
or sing and dance
and tell stories
around a sacred fire,

I want to stand
in the blue
of the flame -
naked,
groundless,
yet alive,

tempered by
an unquenchable longing
to meet myself
in my fiery wholeness,
reclaiming the majesty
and insignificance
of what I am
and what I'm here to do,
in a world that's content
to share stories around a fire,
too terrified to burn
its fingers and toes.

Somethings Are Just Far Away

somethings are just
far away,
the heart-shaped cloud
pinned to an orange sky,
the salt of the sea
from the darkening edge,
the giggling of stars
at a midnight feast,
the ravishing half moon
strolling upon a gentle breeze;
somethings are just
far away,
so they can be owned
but not smothered,
touched but not possessed,
journeyed with
but not arrived at;
just so
in the distance
between the longing
and the cherished,
the blues
deepen and seep
into the far edges,
lost in the light
of a world
that cannot be
seen or touched,
but only lived. 
somethings are just
far away.....

The River of Longing

and all the things
I didn't do for you,
all the things
I couldn't do for you,
stay with me
like unsaid goodbyes
across the far banks
of a flowing river
that never rests,
but only grows
in its fervent longing
for everything that is you.

Where do I Belong?

when I sometimes get tired
of being a messy human
day after endless day,
and I dip into the warm waters
of quiet solitude,
this question drops down
into the bed of my heart
like an anchor -
'where do I belong?'
and then a tiny bubble
rises ever so slowly
to kiss the glimmering ripples,
as if to say -
'be the longing',
and that just seems
perfectly okay.

Prayer Flags

the cold wind
stings and bites
into half-dead skin
ready now
to be shed
and blessed;
scars and wounds,
some healed, or
not healed -
chants of private grief,
framed in eternity.

memories and dreams
tied to
unwavering trees,
stories of pain
and longing
left untold still,
like silent prayer flags
dancing and riding
on the breath
of a fanning,
folding wind.

But You are not Here.....

everyday,
I gaze into the ocean
as it calls out to me,
and I wish you were here
to hold my hand,
stepping out together
into the haunting stillness;
but you are not here.

everyday,
I close my eyes
as the wind bellows to me,
and I wish you were here
to rest my head
on your chest
as we sing our song together;
but you are not here.

everyday,
I  close my eyes
as the river reeds wave out to me,
and I wish you were here
so you and I
could hold each other close,
moving through a slow dance;
but you are not here.

everyday I wish
I could make you feel,
Life flowing through us,
never to return?
oh, how I wish to call out to you,
and not wait for you
to live your life,
while giving up my own...