A lack
Of love
Of self
Of confidence
Of interrogation
Or explanation
A need
To wait
To pause
To delay
To become more
Or less assured
A departure
Heavy eyelids
Dry mouth
A longer view
Ever so slightly
Out of focus
Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
The blue, black, and silver sky
A place for all offerings
All of light is beneath here
Except that illumination above
So there we have it
Out of my dark meditation room
Into the rest of the morning
Where words wait to be joined together
Meanwhile, here in the café
Mother’s talk of daughter’s depression
So right here, as well as in Tokyo
The black dog is present