in the morning
I wake in despair
I hover three feet
above my body
which is curled over
like a frozen pink shrimp
like a scared fetal embryo
just implanted
in an unfriendly womb
the upper left turn in my large intestine
folded over on itself
in devastated longing
calls to me,
where are you?
in the morning
I am lost in the files
the dark alleyways
of distorted faces
bad outcomes
old lovers loving another
homes taken over
heavy whispering against me
in the morning
I grasp blindly for Your Hand
I encourage myself
to call everyone by name
Vajrayogini
Yeshua and the Mary’s
White Buffalo Woman
the whole Mandala
of Yab Yum Union
in the five colors
in the ten directions
I sometimes sing
your Songs
pray in your Secret tongues
speak in plain words
show me the Teaching
show me the Way
and then…
the kiss of Grace
like a shiny silver shoehorn
or a dull butter knife
helps me finally slip my foot
into the old sneaker with the back bent in
clearing the confused hindrance
to Intimacy
with myself
dissolving the brittle barricade
to the flowering
of Tenderness
in the morning
the dawn comes slowly
tickling my arm
dropping blood-red rose petals
which defy gravity
upon my face
and tiny tinkling water droplets
which swoon through my Heart
like the shuddering sigh
of the Buffalo