Every cloud in sky above Cascades illuminated by waning August quarter moon its
word kept by coming later each night, churning west
in the night sky, ominous just after take off
the craters commendable, gravity somehow determining
language of urges in a mad lit diary of August night
is a trail to harvest & darkness. The nightly
needed reminder we are one step closer
              to
                describe  our  own  death  or
                  the  death  of  a  parent.   Where the
                    light so recently has dimmed.  Anicca
                      says the guru/householder. Yet more impermanence, but
                        the memory of light as seen in your last smile says the
                          poet.    Something eternal.
                                            But the poet gets up every day
                                              no gray hair goes away.  The
                                                word mortal is in every motion, you
                                                  can see bags darken under eyes, you
                                                    portray the moon's transit in borrowed skin.
    My early memory of you, walking to the plaza, I'm
      feeling good not to be a fetus.
        @ the park you push me on the swing for tots
          seeing the sky emerge @ the apex of each flight
            it's a feeling in the gut akin to the
              shine you must of felt, the shine viable in your look, the shine
                in my eyes as I pushed my daughter on the tire swing
                  your shine going west into my shine going west into her
                    eyes in which we see what defies anicca as a simple silver thread.
      
8:26AM - 8.31.02
After Homero Aridjis
La Luz from Ojos de Otro Mirar