not so far as thought

 

underneath a blue mahoe tree
lay the red petals of a flower
the ridge above us did not tower
we walked uphill to view the sea

a solemn moment or an hour
to think and then to sip our tea
no auguries would then agree
we did not know we had the power

we thought ourselves happy and free
a simple joy to take a shower
ignoring then the old man's glower
we understood what we could see

in the high woods we made a bower
out of the light and in the lee
from paradise we sought to flee
with native sense for only dower

allow us each with aching heart
to name the place with proper art

a fallen leaf

 

a name for what we do not care to know
assumes that namers have some sort of right
to paste their useful labels day or night
on those who come and those who have to go
to places where time does not move as slow
as it does here beneath the noonday light
who does not give has never to requite
the ones who are not drawn out by the flow
of rivers we know nothing more than you
but have to make some sense of every word
change comes we're told it comes without a pause
the old with spit and polish becomes new
bright fish becomes a funny sort of bird
and justice is the sum of many laws

duties of passage

 

the blind man knows the voices of the road
on cooler mornings he may choose to speak
you walk on uphill carrying your load

service and work become a kind of goad
you cannot find because you will not seek
the blind man knows the voices of the road

we know the symbols we don't know the code
whenever word may come it will be bleak
you walk on uphill carrying your load

the sunshine inside him will not explode
through his four senses it may not yet leak
the blind man knows the voices of the road

we come at last to complex knot or node
the winner is not ever one who's meek
you walk on uphill carrying your load

along the slope no stream has ever flowed
you make it here because you are not weak
the blind man knows the voices of the road
you walk on uphill carrying your load

who won't remember

  

what matters now is how we make the jump
from earth to ocean and just where we'll fall
under the shadows of the trees that tall
and slender each grew from the rotting stump
of their dead mothers and we'll see the clump
of smelly seaweed that we would not call
a harbinger of what could soon befall
the hero for in truth each is a chump
a message comes by ways that we can't tell
and only those who know may think to say
how weight of mangroves keeps the land in place
between this land and sea we'll pause a spell
the ones who know will not have gone away
and magic guarantees there'll be no trace

boundary road

 

a stand of bamboo marks the lowest end
you listen and the sounds are not as clear
so little's carried on the country air

surefooted donkey trots around the bend
i only follow on a stupid dare
a stand of bamboo marks the lowest end

from time to time the signals that you send
seem not intended as signs of true care
we pause because the rules never seem fair
a stand of bamboo marks the lowest end