THE MARKET PLACE

The hustle and bustle

is the same, day after day.

So many vendors

peddling their wares,

barking and bartering

with patrons.

A cacophony 

in the mercato.

Hordes haggling

with hordes.

The mind is like this

with its chorus of voices 

all wheeling and dealing 

for what they want.

And there we are

each of us 

lone figures

in our belfries

bearing witness 

to the brokering barrage 

below and wanting only 

to incite a silence 

that drapes the city  

in stillness

but the tower 

in which we stand

lacks the rope 

to sound the chimes.

GO FIG(URE)

Heard a thing

falling through the leaves

of a fig tree. Figured 

it was the fruit falling

though figs aren’t 

factually speaking, fruit.

But/then, the feathered blue roundness 

of a bird drops through 

the green canopy instead 

of the tree’s native faint-purple 

inverted flower and lands 

on the lowest branch, puffed up 

and clucking like a comedian 

proud and pleased with ripeness.

AT HARBIN

1.

In the meditation pool

with eyes closed

I hear her exhale.

The next thing I know

I am breathing 

her breath.

2.

The nearly full moon

made the pear tree's

waxen leaves 

look like

they were lit by 

lightning bugs.

 WINDOW UNDER WATER

there is a window 

on the world 

that has us see ourselves

in silhouettes, as creatures

in miniature

against a vastness

we can’t fathom

though it fills us 

with an awe and wonder

that is oceanic