The green grass of spring
become flaxen yellow remnant
lining the drive and the stony paths.

I did not cut the grass as I have done
but let it be. It lived wild for a time
among weedy things and dandelions.

The dandelions flower still 
towering about the wilted grass.
Which are lovelier I cannot say.

Perhaps it means little to write
of dead grass and dandelions.
Yet here they are along the drive.
_____________________________________________________
Portland, Oregon - August 9, 2022

Mornings I sit, facing the wall
within silence but for birds.
It is a practice I observe
after rising to meet the day.

Before me, the wall in dull paint
yet it is my past and future I see
streaming by as if in a parade
until I breathe and see again the wall.

They've all gone before me
who've sat facing the wall -
Buddha, Jesus, Francis, Julian.
What did they see when in mornings they woke?
‐-----------------------------
Portland, Oregon - August 2, 2022

Some with whom we walk we know -
our familiar companions in life.
Then there are those we do not know
who walk before, behind or even beside us 
whose faces and names only others know.

Who are they who walk with me
but those who share what I think to be
my solitary path - not the same, never the same -
like unto mine, who, if asked,
would nod their heads, knowing?

I can imagine their faces turned to me
with smiles of sadness or simple nods
understanding that we will never meet,
not in this life, these days or hours,
but at a time, God only knows.

I must thank them for being here with me
these fellows whose faces I'll never see.
We have all been given a length of cord
stretching through our labyrinthine ways
that others will take up when we are gone.
________________________________________________________
Portland, Oregon - July 12, 2022

On this summer's eve I am
not where I was or would -
in between there and then -
spring gone autumn calling.

When will I rest in this place
between where my thoughts go -
memory or expectation -
and find peace within myself?

Does it exist, that sanctuary
for my body and soul, my heart?
Is there a haven where wars end
where suffering has no home?

Now the sun is setting and still,
as evening turns to night, I wonder
if now is just a place in between
or the place I've always longed for?
‐‐----‐-------------------------------------------
Portland, Oregon - June 23, 2022

They winter here beneath
the snowberry thicket
as if it was their home. 
In late spring they fly away.
To where, I do not know. 

I will wait for their return
when autumn turns to gold
with cold coming strong winds
when again, beneath the thicket,
they will poke and plod about.

I like to think they know me
these little brown skittish birds
who scurry about under the pine.
I do not know that they do not 
know me nor do I need to know. 
-------------------------------
Portland, Oregon - May 26, 2022

They are unspoken
written not nor rhymed. 
Living words telling tales - 
Sounds of wind, wave susurrus 
in deep green valleys,
on rocky headland shores.

Breaching leviathan hisses 
herds drumming the tall grasses
breeding in blooms of life
among an enthralled audience
of rock, thistle, coral, and star.
How they love to hear the sounds!
__________________________________

Portland, Oregon - May 24, 2022
 

Through the green gate grazes
the setting sun on pastures of blue.
Beyond the thicket wall spins
the world round its radiant hue.
Within, it is still across the garden
where I sit in evening repose.

This evening silent solace
serene in the last lights of day.
Let it stop that I may catch
the whirl, the wild, and the wind -
to see the green gate open 
on a world transfigured and reborn.
___________________________________
Portland, Oregon - May 19, 2022