drawing up

It is not our job to remain whole.
We came to lose our leaves
Like the trees, and be born again,
Drawing up from the great roots.
 - Robert Bly  

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a new haruki murakami story

The New Yorker has published a new story, "Samsa in Love," by Haruki Murakami.

Read it here.

slow down the world

Women laugh, cut, cook, stack fruit, chat,
Gossip, feed fires with kindling and charcoal,
Chop meat, caress greens, forget their troubles,
Remembering families far away near mountains and rivers
Under a sheltering sky.

I don't know and I don't care, said a laughing market woman,
Pouring batter into tin cups for baking
Confections and coconut balls above her fire.

elevation

Cool temps in wild west town.
Footprints in dust.
The sky is crying.
Goggle motorcycle man comes into town with a load of fresh greens.
Hmong girls sell on sidewalk.
We have everything we need.

We grow rice, ginger, beans, peanuts, peppers, bananas,
Squash, sugar cane, corn, papaya, cucumber, and sweet potato.
Life is sweet.
We carry our abundant world in a wicker basket.

sanctuary in the maelstrom

keep doing what you are doing
i won't be here long
ink dances with dust
deep craggy sunken brown face
opium addict wears old green pathet lao army pants
a plastic string belt
threadbare patched jacket
sandals
lint in his pocket