And never comes back
Yet always comes around
To the same time
And here am I
Year over year
Setting down my characters
Setting down my letters
And here am I
Year over year
Setting down my characters
Setting down my letters
But if the coffee wakes me up
I remind myself to find a way
To reach a little further
Climb a little higher
Take another step forward
No more forward looking
No more anticipation
But for the threshold
And my own bed
it said, in a staccato burst of bold white stencils the building’s entire length. Eight windows sheathed in brown plywood, each with a stencil, right in the center.
A stencil, and bills. A few, or a pattern of eight or more. Posters posted over the admonition, over the order, “POST NO BILLS”.
Come play with me!
Come play!
So I put my words away
My oh-so-many words
Take out my camera
And play with a sphere of letters
Eight years ago, right about this time, my life was a process of transformations. Significant ones. Life changers. World changers. Personal, spiritual, career, love: you name it, it was changing. It seemed like Bif Naked had a song for every single transformation, every single condition I was experiencing.
sun, rain, wind
the seasons
And I?
I spread my branches
all grace and reverence
basking in magnificence
I will not count them: the prayer wheels, the meters, the pilgrims, the steps, the number of times I will feel the smooth patina of wood against my palm. I say to Emma: “I want to do this.” She assents.