day / night

in the garden
the last of the day lilies faded
leaving emptiness & a stick of memory
a token of petals once opened then closed

like dreams tinted
with emotions, with hidden truths
revealing themselves in the night
then curling up before dawn

leaving awakeness & a hunch of the clarity
that hovers beyond this realm
of the human mind
called conscious,

this folly of evolutionatory
vagary

~

reading: Jay Rubin / Haruki Murakami and the Music of Words
rediscovering: Oasis / Born on a Different Cloud

butterfly

my arms folded, i move my body
to the left, to the right
as far as i can reach

you don't breathe into
the dephts of your being
my teacher states gently

then asks a simple,
yet intricate question -
since when is that?

i open my arms
and feel like a butterfly
for a second

i was the tallest in class
i answer, drawing my
shoulders in to explain

the ways we make
our selfs small,
my teacher says,

softly, like the wind
she tries to make us feel,
inside of us.

~

a different place

between water and stone
i step into this thought

that a place
at a different time
is a different place

just like the same place
alone / with someone else
is a different place

~

a task for my week:

to step out of the trains
and chains of thought
every once in a while

to walk slower

to listen to the inner voice
of a place, a person,
a moment

to watch
the world news
empathically

~

question of the day

is it me who is taming the garden -
or is it the garden who is taming me?

~

and the other question:
do the secondary petals of sunflowers,
the ones that develop not on top,
but along the stem,
always look like this?

and if so,
how come i never noticed it?

~