The Caretaker
In my park there is a wooded path
from the lowland to the high
where off to the side by chance I found
a garden plot sullied and forgotten,
overgrown with buckthorn and honeysuckle,
where in the center stood
a tree.
I am the caretaker. It is my job to bring it back.
As if beguiled, I hacked through the underbrush,
climbed to the treetop, careful not to fall,
and looked out, envisioning paradise,
then climbed down from my high perch
and set myself to work.
The Hub of The Wheel
The dam has sprung a leak
The water of miracles
Will drown me.
Gift of clear lungs
Sharp tongue
Vision unapprehended
Flowing through my fingers
Cold and pure.
Come for a visit to the corner of my eye
Leave the center of my vision alone.
For there is falseness, unreality,
Look away, look away
There is truth in nothing.
Nothing is the truth
The hub of the wheel
Is nowhere, look away.
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