Old Body

This old body has its aches and pains,
but even weeds have blossoms, sweet
peas among wild billowing poppies.

All in all, it's worthwhile having bones
to give light a trellis for entangling itself,
having ligaments to give the stars

a cranny where they fall and lodge
their smaller selves; it's not so bad, this
swollen loam of blood and umber marrow.
We're like peaches with edible fuzz.
I can caress your belly, run my finger
down the fur, smell hay just after rain

and watch the willow arms of the valley
mist with a whisper of creeks
into her shaded bed. All in all, the flesh

is no burden, and it's good to have a body.
There is nothing illusory about it.
Even an old one, especially an old one.

This body makes prayer possible.
Not a petition for weightless space, but
thanksgiving for the place where I am.
~A poem from the new book, 'Savor Eternity.'

I Confess

I confess,
I have the malady
of my ancestors,
weakness of the will.
I long for a Comforter
to strengthen me
with supernatural Grace.
That is why, in the evening
I listen to the thrush,
in the morning,
raindrops on ferns.


Every flower reminds us
of the highest truth.
That is why we love to gaze
into the rose.
Love is what happens
in a heart that is merely awake,
when it isn't doing
anything else.
Millions of stars spilling
from that fragrant hollow,
like pollen.
O dear one, why do you
keep forgetting?
'Tat tvam asi.'
You are that.