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Wolfku

Irreverent crow in flight
No wonder they call him
Dances with Gulls

::

At birth
The Universe expanded
Far faster than
The speed of light

::

An infinite universe
Would mean
Infinite, identical
  Earths

::

By Hakuin’s side
I am nothing but
  a weak
Spiritual dabbler

::

Remnants of a storm
The sky and sea sing
Fifty true shades of gray

::

After a thousand haiku:
Thirsting for a real, full
Long paragraph

::

Dawn doors thrown open
My mind free to roam again
Out into green fields

::

Into the chill, moist air
Wood smoke rising
Winter settling in

::

He said to me
—It’s all about love
I said
—There’s less to it than that

::

A bottomless lake
Forest water dark and still
A young boy sleeping

::

A white and wet and wide
Whisper: at last—the shore
A long ago wish

::

The ocean today
rising, waving, singing
so happy to see me

::

These pelicans
fly so near
—I hear
feathers sing

::

Sawing off a leg
will not improve
the flesh to spirit ratio

::

Given earth
water and air
the seed must obey
the fire within

::

Hard rain on asphalt
—I walk on
boiling water

::

Samsara is a sick joke
that Emptiness
is playing on itself

::

The leafless thicket
creaks and squeaks
—the autumn wind

::

All along the wet
  foggy beach
pre-flight pelicans
checking them twice

::

Small birds on four wires
like a score
—when suddenly
the song takes off

::

An angry sea today
The waves
  not so much cresting
as erupting

::

A crow glides by beautifully
A young black
gull-wannabe

::

Odd thing this:
The whiter the ocean
—the angrier

::

Slick, shiny heads
breaking the sunlit
  surface
—teenage seals

::

Black, airborne wings
two in flight
  two in hot pursuit
A crow argument

::

The hearter you do
The hearter you be

::

A sunrise cloud exhibition:
Some of them Turner
others Monet

::

Clouds and clouds
of pelicans rise in
God’s generous
supply of them

::

Distant seals
bark their
hundred-part harmonies

::

The cold wet wind in my face
The soul—knowing, knowing
still warm and dry

::

Does the sun
ever think:
What’s in it for me?

::

An obscenely rich culture
must advertise food
to be rid of it

::

When I was little
only animals and strangers
passed away

::

In the cool, V-less air
two geese winging
  desperately
to catch up

::

Here and there
in the fields
Islets of April snow

::

Sun falling on emerald leaves
still dripping from
the overnight rain

::

The seagull through fog
Silent, airy, wing—wing steps
Fainter, fainter, gone

::

We eat, sleep, sing, pray
dream, tell—
  Sometimes we seek
Mostly we squander time

::

Trees in the mist
whispering among themselves
There he goes, the human

::

Paws slide on concrete
Leash brown and taut
One reluctant dog

::

My contract to cling
  to this body
is binding?
And no escape clause?

::

On the water
In silent prayer
a congregation of pelicans

::

So light
a poem is a country
written on the air

::

The tide is high
The wind is high
The ocean wild
  and rearing

::

In an infinite universe
everywhere is
perfectly centered

::

The one advice
more precious
than any other:
Come, see for yourself

::

The softest footfall
upon wilting leaves
red, brown, and golden

::

Blanket of wide cloud—
That gray could be so lovely
Embracing that tree

::

Sunlight to starlight
  to sunlight again
as Life to Death
  and then Life

::

The crow within arm’s length
who does not flee me
gifts me a sense of pride

::

We see, we hear
We stance, we love, we hate
We ponder, we judge
We self

::

Convictions:
They certain us
They blind us

::

I am long married
I call my lovely wife
by one name:
Solitude

::

Pebble
  Toe
    Flick
      Ditch

::

The prison of melody
The lovely shackles
of affirmation

::

Laughing their spray
These glorious waves
Their white, stallion
  turbulence

::

These days
my mind is less populated
elbow room, fresh air
  stillness

::

In air, right at me
A seagull in a hurry
What news? I wonder

::

Darkness
Unanchored
Leaving on the tide

::

That sky-deep hole
  in the ground
proved to be nothing
but a still puddle

::

Full moon on water
glitters
the perfect song

::

Timid crow vs. brave
A-wing vs. black eyes
and priestly strutting

::

A true closet intellectual
knows how to spell
Friedrich Nietzsche

::

The misty, musty
fragrances of fall
That death can be so alive

::

My indignation
blossomed like an evil flower
Pride everywhere

::

October butterfly
looking for May
in every wilted flower

::

My mind is dancing
the five seven five seven
teen syllable jig

::

Scattered long ago
by Darkness
Many little lights
yearn for itself

::

Two golden feet
a heavenly arch apart
Unmoved?
Not an option

::

Ice on the puddles
No snow—engine well-tuned
Life lived to teen fullest

::

After the warm autumn rain
The gullible landscape
fooled into green

::

If we can know
the highest truth
Why would we
Ever… let up?

::

This long and winding
country lane of memories
foreshortened by fog

::

The September wind
stern, with the promise of snow
I am twelve again

::

Why are we born
so much dumber
than when we died—
hours earlier

::

Sex was introduced
when we would not procreate
without inducement

::

Lives rooted yearn to roam
Lives roaming yearn to stay
Ah, the greener grass

::

Silent through the air
The hawk is made for gliding
Drops of rain agree

::

That fish, high in the air
in the osprey’s beak
startled by scenery

::

Farther away than away
and longer
Gone to death now
I miss her

::

A dungeon
walls a mile thick
Easier to escape
than sex… than pride

::

The ear hears the eye
The eye sees the ear
The heart translates

::

Threaten the ego
with extinction and it will
think you to death

::

Sunset sees him stir
This furtive and ruthless
slayer of Awake: Sleep

::

Defining ourselves
by likes, by views, by dislikes
It’s a full-time job

::

Strong wind
to young caterpillar—
Sorry, Kid
It’s nothing personal

::

This mortal fusion
of the spirit with the flesh
Superglue—buckets

::

I think I am
Therefore I am
René Descartes
as Buddhist convert

::

In stillness a thought
arises—weary, unfed
An enraged monkey