Genre: Poetry

You who dress in clothes that appear
to have elegant meaning, you with so

much charm, remember how your face
will decay to dirt.

Night birds may think
daybreak a kind of darkness, because

that’s all they know.

The moon stays bright when it
doesn’t avoid the night.

Only full overhead sun diminishes

your shadow. But that shadow has been serving
you. What hurts you, blesses you. Darkness is

your candle. Your boundaries are your quest.

What sort of

person says that he or she wants to be polished and pure,
then complains about being

handled roughly?

Don’t trust ways.
They change.

One day a

falcon invited a duck to leave the lake and see the high
plateau. The wise duck

said, “Water is my source and fortress, my peace and
joy. Don’t tempt me with

where you love to be. …”

…the looking itself is a trace of what
we’re looking for…

This is now. Now is. Don’t
postpone till then.

We’re burning up quickly, tasting
a little hellfire as we go.

You cannot imagine
how little it matters to us
what people say.