For the end of November

These early November hours
That crimson the creeper's leaf across
Like a splash of blood, intense, abrupt,
O'er a shield: else gold from rim to boss
And lay it for show on the fairy-cupped
Elf-needled mat of moss.
—Robert Browning

Bus/zen

40 minutes
(practicing) meditation.
To travel ten by car
I couldn't then practice
Buszen.

the sour seat smell
grooved in by ten
thousand bodies -
get past that.

the broken drift of conversation,
one-sided cell calls.
latch on to the sound -
let go.

The mind wanders
focuses
moves again to watching
who boards
who disembarks.

Diverge:
Read the poetry,
feel the wheels,
join hot humans standing

Converge:
Breathe,
Listen.

Don't waste your time
waiting for the bus
be the bus
driving to buszen.

Found poem

What vows did we intend
To weave each other strand by strand
Into anew.
Together.


This is what I have learned --
In no constant time
There is the constancy of your breath.
In no calm time
There is the steadfastness of you stance.
In no joyful time
There is the laughter of your eyes.

This is what I know
that I cannot know enough
To take blessings too much for granted.
Without gratitude
without wonder.
Even if I do on accident or in vague forgetfulness.

It is what I know
Even disregarded, it is in the lacing
Of our fingers.
It is in the promise of the new.