The mind is a pilgrim

never populating

a space

aside from itself.

Though wandering it leaves no trace

instead it goes missing

veiled in steady speech

of other things

While hermitage finds

it can be mobile

as well as stagnant

without ever reaching

ideals of a monk


Virtues have vacated each place visited

until shame

invites them in again.


At A Time

Grew up on hunger, sleep and justice


Tired days stole the pleas of the stomach

and fed them to blind scales


Reciprocation is hard work

and something justice

doesn’t do well


But a few alterations

in the plans

are done

So hunger growls another way


Too loud now for rest


Too steady to let bloom


even when it asks the wind


push it far from stem to where the grove

is filled a stone at a time.


Before getting lost

to the space

of the tight-knit


A loosely scripted message

needs to be typed

sent through the web

away from hands

holding envelopes,

standing in line for stamps

hoping to feel

like this is the way

one goes about