Watching a Sleeping Pig

Watching a Sleeping Pig

Benner's pig lies asleep
on this sunlit June afternoon
bedded in her slatted wooden pen
ears like banana leaves,
snout, watery and sucking
in time to her porcine dreams.

The cloven trotters, perfectly paired,
kick out with each snort.
Dozing in the muddy shadows
she rests on summer hay, dried flowers
and a newly gathered bag of corncobs.

I want to lie down by her freckled back,
nuzzle her silvery hairs, stroke her huge ears.
I want to snort, kick and dream with her
between the sunlight and the shadows.

The Zen Master's Life Is One Continuous
Mistake

if the jar is cracked he drinks
if the day is grey he smiles
if the doorway is narrow
he'll squeeze through
stopping to meditate on his face
before he was born

"what about the trees?" we ask
"a willow is a willow is not"
he replies
i mention one hand clapping
he whacks me with a stick

(the zen master is so foolish
we must smother our laughter)

when we wonder about emptiness
he answers
"a bluebird carries the sky on her back"

walking to the sea

we are walking to the sea
we have no compass
we have no map

we circle round
pick up clues
attend to small details

a shoe in the brambles
mushrooms
a paring knife

on the way to the sea
we listen for waves
look for osprey

tell stories about
high blue skies
and sudden storms

knowing about
wrong turns
we follow the light

when talk
is difficult
we pile up stones

we are walking to the sea
composing letters
for our children