sitting beneath the
nothing moon the only thing
stirring is my mind
*
in the produce aisle
slant of sun hits the bananas
and it’s gold, gold, gold
*
easy to give
away old clothes, old cups
not so these old thoughts
*
out of the dirt rise
oh! hundreds of small brown birds
our hearts: dirt and bird
*
Li Po drowned trying
to embrace the moon—I laugh
but still I reach
*
what’s crooked, what’s straight—
silence translates them
the same
*
new tea cup
and the same black tea tastes
not at all the same
*
not only when I am
quiet does the quiet move
through me