the longboard of now

we sit
in the tired
darkness
ache
toward lying
laying
here
red couch witness
of squeaky hamster wheel
turning
turning
there is something
in the moon of this night
turning
what is dead
over
to seed
what will come
as winter wheat
bread
makes
itself
of course
from that which rises
as grain
in stalks
of promise
in dreams
of what might be
someday
awakened
as life
again

we
find our
way
our
ways
here on the
longboard
of now
pushing past
this song
of songs
singing along
with the wheel
that is always
turning
and turning

especially
when it threatens
to appear
still

falling all the way

watching
breathing
moving through the day
i notice
there is a stillness
sitting
in the circle
of the center
of my earth
praying
but not for anything
being
its calm, clear, reverberation
of self

if i make a space

if i make a space
if i leave a path clear for you--or
even overgrown
if i sit, crazy in the emptiness of
without you or the full to overflowing
only you could get glose enough to give me
if i sit in the piece of now that's offered
quiet, silent, empty as the upright glass
and wait without waiting for you or
anything else--you or anyone--this
or anything--if i empty of self and
song and story and little pieces of sacred
paper or quiet words whispered to
the dead leaves in the ink that
flows when i hold the pen
is it you or me? left there as the
glass of emptiness? the vessel of
yes? the empty space of peace?
i am ready for emptiness--
i just can not bring myself to let go
when i go...
but i will go.