Go, come back? I will see you again

vases of dried flowers

Let the world dissolve

Whispers full of empty rooms
and open windows and still
air, everyone’s leaving, one
by one, stories about the dead
fill every garden, every bowl
dust songs, pealing memories
and flowers cut, dry, rattle
like bones in cracked vases


In the midst of the pain
sings the darkness
free from nothing

(after Matsuo Basho, 1644 – 1694)

— From my notebook
(for Mark & Montana
a thousand years ago)