2 Maple Leaves, Shoin Uni. Osaka, 12.11.05

I'm
here with
all the
motley colored beauty of
our dying. This is the
one taste we can't wash
our mouthes clean of.
Beyond pure or polluted,
the bitter touch of
time upon the tongue.



. . .


Along
with all we
miss in thinking
we are alone, there is this
subtle color in
the sensation of
solitude, the
echo of one's
voice within
the one
voice that
sounds
without
start or
end.

3 Ginko Leaves, Midosuji St. Osaka, 12.3.05

I will not
say my name above
the whisper of these cars
softly rolling across these
streets covered of gold.
Why? I ask
too.



. . .


What
difference does all this
subtle difference make? Within
the habitual lie of repetition
resides the seed of sight, always
bursting open beyond
the clouds.



. . .


Every step, blessed by the
gold underfoot, the
carpet of this softest shine.

Believe
in the
sublime.

2 Cherry Leaves, Shitennoji Graveyard, Osaka, 11.28.05

What is
color without
the eye to grasp
and the mind to
shape? What is self
if I abandon body and
mind into then and
let the name echo
only here?
NAMU
AMIDA-BUTSU



. . .


With so little light
to capture the dust of this
moment's decay, why else mark
this instant except to carry all
beings into its fire beyond
fire, its ocean beyond
oceanic?

5 Cherry Leaves, Tanimachi St, Osaka 11.28.05

There is
fire and there
are us; two forms
of the longing for
the thusness each
gives rise to
and embodies.

Why cry for
being
lost?



. . .


I would
take your head
into my hands and whisper
being into your
eyes. But that
would simply
be
repeating this.



. . .


No size
to give
all our love
to except
this now
here.



. . .


May all
being lost in
this illusion of
separation, ignite
the seed of calm
within the heart
that beats
through
each.



. . .


Nowhere.
In the spirit
of loss that
saturates all that
falls, I drop self
and all breezes of
desire into the
tug of emptiness'
gravity. I step
out of this
corpse.
Free.