On my first journeys east
I found no Shangri-La.

With those early sketches
person and place spoke for themselves.

“This is how it is”
Nobility bound to circumstance

that undermines it.
Later when I carried a camera

seeking heightened proof
for my saying,

contact sheets piled up,
every instance “This is so”

spoke of another
Till cadenced chant “This”

redeemed itself
as prophecy. “need not be so”

When I put the camera down
the sketches bled in black and white.

When I ceased writing,
haunting and terrible cries

were heard. Now I image the world
with my eyes alone

Waiting for morning
to expose what can be seen

Then I write
with the wind at my back

carrying the leaves far
from the trees.

Stripping bare the bark,
I raise my arms

high and wide
to turn in a dance

as dusk


2 thoughts on “HOW IT IS

    1. Let your mind move freely
      between the reflexive, the expressive
      And the immediately aware

      Let your self
      Be with your experience

      Recognizing your state of mind
      And giving voice
      To your innate expressiveness

      Reading a poem
      Out loud if you will
      Be with the voice

      you hear
      Both your own
      And the other


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