on being the season, changing (poem)

wearing my silk robe
before breakfast

more curled bamboo leaves on the porch
each day, thoughts migrate

back to the mountain. My suitcase
not yet out, I pack my life inward.

a friend writes, confides
her fear of death.

I like the leaves, their sound beneath
my thai broom as I sweep.

on reading the new book of an old enemy (poem)

when I read your poems, sitting in the comfort
of my study, puerh steaming, the golden

light streaming from my lamp
my heart is a stone.

you've stolen my words, the koi in my pond
crows in the sky, and even my rolling eyes

during meditation. one more thing
you've done, a long list of things

a sutra of betrayal and lies.
tonight, I am a bitter woman

wandering the garden with wet
eyes to match the leaves.

why we're back (poem)

for Chia Tao

old ones, we all find ourselves
back here when we were certainly on the verge

of being cloud-dragons. so male, so
stubborn in our meditations, unlike trees

even the animals we mimicked felt
their way through life not putting

blades through their chests for shame
of nurturing another warm living thing

someone you love, dies and you
berate yourself for feeling sad