Divide
by Bruce Holsapple
Sandy mountain road, twisting high
thru pine & jumper, into that saddle
where the peaks divide, rocky gullies start
hers, his, that rockslide or this,
golden sweet grass sky blue cloud
get preoccupied by deer tracks
Study the ground, walk penitent
No, remind yourself how solid earth
nothing manufactured, exert
yourself, climb, get it behind
There are stories, much more weird
I mean by respectable folks
& it’s not outlandish to think
love might induce love, tho it did not
& that hurt & I was confused
Wind flowing thru the ponderosas
pushing boughs, whirling needles
distant wash of sound
long waves of it, pulse & throb
stretches of green, of gray
I know you didn’t ask but
I’ve said it many times
you didn’t have a brain in your head
falling for that girl
There’s no way, nothing
& did it despite all
you’d think a man his age
would reach the conclusion
well, maybe he’s seen pictures
knows what everybody knows
a girl like that
clutching at the closest green twig
it only makes you feel older!
how you wilt & fade
nothing actually to grasp
save that conclusion
love is fickle, willy nilly
a force that seizes you by the throat
blows you up
lets you float awhile
then tosses you aside, used, why
Well, that’s not exactly true
& he didn’t do anything
you wouldn’t have, in his shoes
a mismatch okay but
only because of vulnerability
A lonely weekend, I guess
I never did have a SEXUAL relation
that didn’t involve intense pain
pain so intertwined with joy
you can’t tear them apart
“love & happiness” my ass
You have my skin
says Bodhidharma
Okay, but that doesn’t
resolve anything
you also have my heart
twisting tight inside
& the long wind as evidence
Sooo, the wind says, Soooooooo
you’d think you’d known better
confess I thought I did
Ouroboros
by Kristin Agudelo
I once met a snake with a brown paper tongue
grocery bag full of meanings,
not all of them sound.
He slipped up beside me,
hissing love poems so fragile
they weren’t there at all.
His silence punctured the buzzing of thought.
Mind–rattle stilled,
I shed my ill–worn self.
After a time, he grew familiar,
entwined in my hair,
tickle of parseltongue in my ear.
He rode me like a chariot,
and when presented with a forked path,
I took them both.
After eons,
I arrived at the center from two different directions
and found him there again, biting his own tail.
The Instinct to Swarm
by Wang Ping
The ones in the brain
that allow us to make decisions, not just
about what to order for lunch, but about basic perceptions —
making sense of the flood of signals coming from the eyes
or hearts, struggling for balance, juggling
between time and space, two houses across
the river of stars. Eye of the storm —
the small chime turns in the cloud, its copper heart
swinging left to right, right to left.
The old lawn mower roars with fresh gas,
and the grass, smelling like hay rolling into the sea,
brings tears to the eyes. “She weeps when she thinks of
her lover at sunset,” her son confirms.
How does a heart heal? The answer may lie
in the inner swarm, tangled, running ahead of time.
How does our brain see what we see?
Or feel? How do we not run from pain, but stand
face to face? It’s been four months since April,
the cruelest of all. The trees are still green,
and birds still singing, but the grass is littered
with thorny shells of acorns, biting hands and feet
as I dig weeds with a steak knife. Every day,
I must learn how to live again, or love
between woodpeckers’ knocking and bleeding twilight.
Breathe. Hands under thighs.
I wish you only goodness and safety.
I wish all sentient beings good and safe — is my prayer
for you, for us. Our bodies apart, but the minds
still twine, with hearts as a metronome, ticking ¾ time.
I have taken off my watch long ago. Our hammock
hangs between the mesh of rope and net of lights,
flickering from the far north.
In the Heart of Things
by Wang Ping
We surrender
Even if we don’t know how
No thought
No thunder
No flight from hope to despair
No silence
No sorrow
Time folds and unfolds
No joy
No despair
No origin or end
The story flowers at its own pace
Dark and light
Good and evil
Its energy hinges
On our perception
Trees do not know truth or lies
They’re just trees
Full of the sap for life
No red
No blue
No white or black
In the absence of color
A rainbow