for my friend, Amidha Porter


After the last cherry blossom has been torn by a cross wind

and carried where ever prayers go

the late blooming crabapple is fully open to the sky.


I am standing under her branches looking up through sturdy flowers

happy to see what I am becoming, satisfied to open and be

taken by the sky.


God has seven billion pairs of eyes, every one of them focused entirely on himself

but I love the human laughing on a cross

flying on a cross

whose voice is a flooded river, whose two eyes flecked with blood

are looking into mine.





  1. One day, my dear,
    you stop and look around you,
    find yourself stuffing needs into a sack of thoughts,
    realize you have talked your life to pieces,
    scratched your self to bits,
    that neither hope nor doubt
    can protect you,
    that you are not mistaken,
    that you haven’t lost your grip–
    it is dissolving.
    Now you can speak about everything silently. –Terrance Keenan, St. Nadie in Winter: Zen Encounters with Loneliness

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