This world is vaster,



Than my feet can ever walk,

Than my eyes can ever see.

The world beyond the world

Vaster still.


Tastes beyond the breadth of a tongue,




More than all the breaths I can draw,

Dance and tantalize

Beyond every hill,

Every sunset.


My skin wraps me,

The outer boundary of my outer self

And there isn’t enough of it to feel

The scratches,


Burrs and scrapes,

Caresses and strokes,


The eternity of touches

In the eternal world.



Might as well bail the ocean with a tea cup.



Draw in the sky through a drinking straw.



The symphony is vaster than I can hear.


Let me taste the honey on my tongue,

See the light of just this dawn,

Smell the rose before my face,

Feel the brush of this night wind,

Hear the waves on this shore.


Just this place and just this time.


The unbound me,

Eternal me,

Infinite me

Can walk this path

From this place

To this place

To this place.


World without end.


Cricket Song

The wind is fierce tonight

And the crickets sing.


Out of season

The crickets sing.


In the warm days and cool nights

Of an easy, early Spring,

The night lives with cricket song.


Winter is not done,




The wind is a harbinger,

A vanguard,

Of fierce and frigid frozen Winter,

Which will ride for a night or two or three or more.


Winter isn’t done.




Still the crickets sing.


Winter winds will slow them,

Maybe kill them.


Still they sing.


Cricket song is the herald of Spring.


Maybe their songs kill Winter.


I don’t know.

Sounds fanciful.




I hope my life,

When it ends,

Ends with me singing Winter to death.