nothing brings you

into the moment

this present

of breath and light

any more-so

than pain

with its constant

plea of      NOW

and NOW      I’m here


fuck your plans

your appointments

your jobs

your past

the matters

that matter most

don’t matter much

when pain arrives

and decides to stay


the mundane

that dust ringing

in your head

patterns      shapes

colors      lines

shadow sounds

hold sway

in the eye      mind


driftwood riding

rising      flung

swell to crest

cast ashore

then pulled out

to sea again

seemingly the same

always changed


a pulse beating

both sun and moon

churning up the old dark

miracles now fathomed

why you still roll

hung in blood and air

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