Status Updates From The Oasis of Now: Selected ...

Each of us in the curve of his own thoughts had a sky tucked away
to rinse blue every corner of her mind.
Each slight gesture of our arms sang of wings fluttering at dawn.
Our pockets full of the chirping canary song of childhood mornings.
We were a whole group of lovers walking past the poorest neighborhoods
with their shoreless gifts of pure feeling.
As we leaned over the stream to drink,

Pull the curtains open
and let the fresh air in.
Age and Growth can rest here
while all my little urges slip out into the garden to play,
doff their shoes and leap over the flowerbeds.
Let’s let loneliness sing its song,
write a poem,
go out into the streets.
Let’s forget about everything.
Forget everything when at the bank teller’s window and when lounging under the sycamore.

Into the breathing of my loneliness send splinters of my intelligence.
Send me flying after the kite of that other day.
Take me to the solitude of life’s wan measurements
and show me the presence of soft Nothing

Love is the echo of distances, the echo of distances drowned in ambiguity

Life is the distillation of loneliness

I will reconcile, understand, walk on.
I will drink light.
I will love.

Maybe our mission is to run between the lotus flower and the century, hunting, hunting for an echo of truth

what would our clenching hands hold onto if there were no death?

Beneath a blanket of snow, damp paper dreams of
floating off in the wind.
[…]
I hunger for any sound
but there is still some time until a bird will squawk on
March’s fevered fences.

What can I say then,
I who hunger for just one note in the year’s bare
songless season?

I better get up,
pick up a brush and dip it in color,
then draw a bright little bird on the canvas of my
loneliness.

Behind us, the memory of a wave pours the rubble of
stillness and emptiness ashore.

To the shore then,
to cast our nets upon the sea
and catch the freshness of water.

With a little pebble of sand
we can measure the weight of Being.

I went to the end of the alley of doubt,
as far as the cool night air of contentment,
as far as the rain-damp evening of affection.

I went to meet someone at the far end of the alley of
love.
I traveled as far as I could to meet another.
As far as the lamp,
the silence,
the fluttering sound of loneliness—