Little Houses


Little Houses

We all live in little houses
without any trousers,
where all the walls are mirrors.
Where all of our senses
and all our defences,
reflect only our desires and our fears.

You can only depart
if you open your heart
and let in the light of another.
There are no other windows
or doors you can pass through,
but love and compassion and wonder.



Opposable Opossum


Opposable Opossum

So it was YOU then,
dancing in the ethereal darkness
beyond midnight,
hauling your loot,
my nearly bad fruit,
between beams of starlight
and stolen dreams,
beyond the reaches
of my meager senses,
over roof tops
and under fences.
An aboriginal arboreal marsupial.
A possible opposable opossum.
My apache tlacuache,
an ánimo animal,
I see you now
strutting down my garden path
in broad daylight,
bold as brass,
as I water the vegetation
to renew myself.
You have returned to the scene
just to be seen.
A proud thief
with papaya juice still dripping
from your rubbery lips.
bald tailed and loathsome.
I can hear you
laughing softly from between
your bared razor sharp teeth,
I salute you,
as you wiggle your fat behind
into the tangle of the jungle
where even my civilized barking dog
refuses to follow.
You, creature of the night
from the other side of light.
You, who are now
slinking back into the emptiness
from which you came,
carrying our fears
and all the suffering in the world
we are unwilling to bear.


The Universe Whirs


The fan spins idly in the window.
A truck grinds along the nearby highway.
A drum beats somewhere in the pueblo.
The high pitched voice of a priest in recitation
wafts from somewhere beyond the trees.
A breeze stirs a response from the leaves.
Romeo barks at a bird or an iguana on the roof
and then quiets.
The universe whirs from the heart of my being
and the stars that surround us.
Time flows through the waft and weave of everything
like senseless chatter,
forgotten as soon as it is spoken,
unable to hold it’s place.


Four Haiku


Clouds blanket the mountains and the valley to the sea.                 When the sun shines again, will you be there?

In the moment there is no breeze.
Nothing to flutter the leaves of the trees.

Lifting my eyes from the illuminated window to the cyber-universe,
How delicious the sound of falling rain.

The sun has touched the surface of the sea.
There is no need for words now.


Child Of The Dawn


And so the mottled child forlorn

wanders in from his journey home,

out of the soothing patter

of a warm rain

that fell across last night unrestrained.

Where have you been?

I ask him standing

in that light streaking

from between clouds and moments now breaking.

All the while silent answers flow

unhindered from his sodden features.

From somewhere deep inside the identity

of bone and stone,

being love and washing fear,

out of time’s dark narrow funnel.

From a place preceding sight,

through which all things,

both suffered and enjoyed,

must pass, coming and going,

all matter, dreams and light,

cosmic dust, water and smoke.