Writing
"History"
We are repeating history,
you and I.
We are confessing secrets
of the ages.
We are
telling each other
what our bodies
already know,
what is stored
within our chemistry
from the cells of long ago.
**
"EVENING MEDITATION"
I notice a thirst
and I drink.
Desire
leads to more desire
and I pour another round,
one for me
and one
for my friend,
the meditation teacher.
It is not possible to transcend suffering,
he says.
We can only affect our way of relating to pain.
Hearing these words,
I promptly lift my glass
and empty it,
following his instruction.
**
"LITTLE POEM"
Little poems are blooming in the bed
where I planted seeds two weeks ago.
Every night I water them,
dropping dreams between the pillows.
**
"MEMORIAL"
Walking through wind
on the Longfellow bridge
toward Government Center
in the late afternoon
on an overcast day
in early October
to arrive at the street
which holds the memorial
for six million Jews
who died at the hands
of an army of servants
that lived by the word
of an artist who turned
into a madman
after his work
was shunned by the world.