It blew so hard last night
that, when I woke this morning,
I was afraid something might
be missing. Putting my hands
to my face I realized,



















sure enough, my left eyebrow
was gone. Closer inspection
revealed that I had also
lost any conception of
the color yellow. Look



















at these leaves strewn about
everywhere, like the hands
of saints, and I can’t think
of a single worthwhile
thing to say about them.

emptied out
pouring out
to the 4 corners
of the earth
suddenly
there’s no container
just the Great Way
with no barrier, it flows
both ways

Leaning towards
the Southeast
take a step.
Something rests there.
Reach an open

hand into the fabric
and feel what
comes flowing up
out of the ground
to fill it. Take another

step and then another
eyes turned to where
cirrus clouds hang high
and cold in the
Northwestern sky.

Each step naturally
smaller and slower
than the last.
After proceeding
in this way for some

time it would be
hard to say I was
walking at all. Nor
could I really be said
to be standing still.

Godzilla IS the embodiment of the Law of Cause and Effect.
Here he is rampaging across my altar.

... and here's a link to my talk on the subject:
Dogen vs. Godzilla

I hope by now
I needn’t tell you
there’s not even
a glimmer of hope.

What can you say
it’s a family matter.
The best way
to stop a hurricane

is to stand
in the middle
brandishing
a paper fan.

The best place
to hide the evidence
is right there

on the kitchen
table between
the salt shaker
and the butter dish.

That her voice
is a tumbling fountain
of glass.

That her table manners
are atrocious.

That she dances until
even the dumb
chairs are too dizzy
to sit.

These are
excuses we make
to account for the bare
truth that the body

is an instrument
no one knows
how to play. That

each time I open
my mouth,
a mountain wants
to fall out of it.

That it’s no wonder
we make a mess of things.

There for all the world to see

like the imprint left on the side
of a building when its neighbor
is demolished - a square patch
of floral wallpaper, plumbing fixtures

clinging dizzily. Round we go
pursued by an endless beginning-less
train of carousel horses, sculpted
nostrils flaring, eyes wide as usual.

There’s the tired tiger, the gaudy
dragon with a chipped golden ball
between his claws. It’s not what I
was led to expect. I recall
Miss Oliphant always warned us

about swimming too close to
the really big fishes, and who has not
heard the old saying about looking
too long at a yellow-eyed dog.

It's not exactly that they were
wrong, but when you’re invited
in to dinner it hardly seems helpful
to refuse simply because it’s not

the invitation you were waiting for.