since daybreak
hoeing and mowing—
siesta time

After reaching for the needle
at the bottom of the sea,
I looked up, one summer's eve,
to see old Chang San-Feng
open the garden gate,
and join me for Tai Chi.

We said not a word,
hands moving like clouds,
fingers grasping sparrow's tails,
faces smiling,
feeling the sun drop,
glimpsing a half moon
climbing the clear sky.

Time flowed without a ripple of memories,
Space embraced a crane cooling its wings,
Being began to sing
softly in tune with the moon.

My dusty black dog barked,
sensing something on the warm wind;
speaking her mind,
ears up.

Master Chang was gone.
Leaving one shoe on a beanpole,
and one page of poems.
Mementos for mortals.

Two black butterflies
danced wing to wing
in love.

After the long wait ...
twisted wreckage,
glancing at death

Immersed in Itness—
at the brink
of Glacier Point!

North Valley Heat
attacked!
Spring died.

Bouncing on the tractor as the day moves to dusk;
Mulching up dry weeds, trailed by dust.

Huge white oleanders
hide tiny black flies ...
Yang solstice.

Crack!
kitchen faucet breaks.
Priorities change.