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


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