haiku on the cusp of the solstice
today at the lake
winter is nigh, the trees bare
the sun a cold gift
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how to use the F word
How many times are we told to forgive a transgression? Like it’s a prescription. It’s supposed to make us better or so the story goes. The point being what? Enlightenment? Brownie points in heaven? Feeling good inside? I wrote recently about how yoga has made me feel more vulnerable and more forgiving towards myself and…
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always careening
invited in but always careening towards something (careless footsteps) skin throbbing from the sting (and not wanting to forget) the pulsating rhythm of blood rushing to the point of entry bathed in sunlight, the clenching stops while quiescent clouds gather rich, mellifluous enchantment moments and memories stitched together (everything in his house has a story)…
