This is how I spend the days– nothing
is for sure or what it seems
in the sacred web as morning
flowers
into sun– I stand
at
a window
watching
herons
out to sea
the scent of wisteria over water
moves in the fine yellow Gobi dust of China
trees fill the air ever-green
I hope for nothing, dream everything
into being– or do I only wonder, I question
not if world peace
is
unattainable
if Darwin or Intelligent Design should be
taught to children, but rather
should I meditate later by the river
swim
in the glaring sun
and let go— in the current
mystery?
the third eye sees in and through me
the warnings of wren and jay
are not song
but will and blood
mind turning
heart
heart feeding the mind of a child.
I find everything comes to me exactly as it is
if I go to it precisely as I am then
there is no watching out or looking in at dawn
