From here you can see the snowy mountains,
Like words written on the blue walls of the sky.
That's your east,
And your west?
The blue fades to a vague gray in the direction
Of the dark wilds of the Pacific.
This is California's vegetable garden,
The Central Valley, long and wide.
I inhabit this place. Like a bat in a cave.
Like an owl in an elm. This place is my own.
I fill this land like a ghost fills a haunted house,
Like coffee fills a cup.
Starting out from here
Any direction is the right direction,
And turning about from any direction
Takes me back home.
Opening my front door, the past Blows in, uninvited. I open the back door, So it can blow back out again as well. No past, no future, ju...
Li Po, Hanshan - I keep their poems handy. After hundreds of years passing by The poetry still shines like new for me, Everytime I open t...
A windy, wet day And I see my son through an opening In a stand of pines Two years since the funeral James 16 May 2019