your face
this poem
marks on a map
a finger pointing to the other side
past all these tears joys loves
to the place we live
really

and i went with my sisters
into the cathedral of trees
the one which has known us – each – since we could walk
and there we lay down
millennia of autumns
library of light made from loving
and shoulder touching shoulder we looked up through the vaulting ceiling
and the trees rang their tiny silver bells
and the milky way poured down her amrita
through the light years into the heart of our belonging
and at last i remembered
how it is to be beloved
to belong, precious
and the trees sang our names:
i was transformed with it

after something of a hiatus
(Jesus Christ!)
i am training in falling back in love
with humans
the small the mean the angry
the ugly the stupid the growing older by the nano
i’m training in falling back in love
deeply profoundly ecstatic (amen)
with myself

over on the west of ireland
where the air is soft
and the rank vanilla-shame brand of catholicism saturates
in amongst the stay awhiles and all the loving memories
i met the Buddha in a graveyard
He was different than i thought
less gold, more grey and loose across dishevelled bones
His face glittered silver stubble when He threw a shovel in His truck
you be looking for someone? He called
no i said, just looking
ah grand He said and moved to open up the driver’s door
(magahey headstones castlebar)
it seems we’re here for such a short time
the words came thin and silly, in amongst the marble and the granite
but He, gracious, gave them space
aye He came, so make each day a good one
showed His teeth, grim or happy
and pointed with a pale finger
(looking back it was at the moon or the place it might have been were it night)
how? i asked
grey green eyes shrewd as in: Buddha Gives Teaching, He spoke:
i met a man once who said he had a grand day til he woke and the old brain box started up
He whirled his hand at the side of his head, looked at me sideways: transmission
i laughed with Him and watched Him up into the truck
He swung his tired bones and slammed the door,
released the brake and idled down the hill
on the turn He lit a smoke and fired the engine
i watched Him out of sight

why does the flower
why do birds
and why do i ?

even do i ?

there rests in me a vast space:
i can’t see in here
and keep bumping into things