Shoulder the Sun

Sometimes I fret about yesterdayor worry about tomorrow.Then I noticethe granite cliffbehind my house.

We’re told to ignore the emptypart, to step away from the voidand mind the gap. So instead webusy our heads with the full partand are glad our lives are complete.But what if the empty part isthe important part and the fullpart is merely a distractionfrom what is truly real?

When I dieI hope they makea statue of meso I can wait in stillnessand see all the thingsI never sawbecause I was too wrapped upin my own self-ness.

We start by lovingthe world around usuntil we thinkwe know better.

One day we will extendour family beyond theThanksgiving table andour home beyond ourlocked front door.Until then, we fight alonein this brutal, beautiful world.

The seeds I sowedin little black potsunder chicken wireneed ice and snowto germinatewhich is why I trustspring will cometo every one of useven when it seemsour winter will never end.

Remembering can bethe funniest thing.Where do you goand how can I forgetyou have gonewhen you come backso easily?

We forgot we were homeso went lookingin other places.

There are days when I wantto run away to home—to that place that is right,where the ground smells like comfortand the trees wave hello. There are dayswhen I rememberand so—gladly—I come home,I am home,I am.

Here begins another day…

Looking for enough…

All day pushing…

Our minds with engines idling

It’s curious, said Bird…

Gripping, I resist…

One day, I hope to bathe…

I forget the space…

Spending my day in forgetfulness…

Your trouble, said Bird…

Remember, said Bird, you cannot lose love…

Every time you’re busy in your head…

If only I could gaze…

If I were better…

He spent his days…

It helps when I remember…

Sometimes, when I see you, Bird…

When it’s this cold at night…

Through my window are trees…

The temperature falls…

Snow falls…

On winter days darkness arrives…

Then I return home and remember…

Tired of being somebody

When I was three I liked Lego…

South-facing and sun in October…

The trouble with growing up…

Here I am, fists clenched…

When I was a boy I would delight in the orangeness of the autumn leaves…

There are days like today that insist on the important things…

Most of it is dust…

How frightening, how lonely to be me against the world…

Crisp, brown leaves that smell of books…

So much gardening the world…

So much time in the world of atoms…

Here’s someone busy doing something…

I was chatting with a squirrel today…

Poor us in the Doritos world…

The trouble with growing up…

One reason I get upset in my head…

Today’s problems are tomorrow’s stories…