Scales - Yorkminster

Waves, static, clouds,

Diamonds, butterflies,

Moths and slate might

All draw towards the

Flame but I haven’t

Seen it.

Everything, everything, everything

Takes such a long time

Especially

Us and furthermore

Especially

Us in projection.

The hastiest

Transformation left

Us limbless and

Lizard-like towards

That scaly Phoenix-fire of regeneration.

The lizard with

His new tail needs no

Recollection.

What I mean is that

A lost tail is

Always a lost tail.

This is why they made you out of stone.

Sometimes, in some

Saintly existence,

Memory is

Heavy despite its

Holes and shell-marks –

Inescapable

And not to be

Mocked, trivialized,

Begrudged or forcibly forgiven.

With ceilings wide

As the Buddha-mind

The burden lies

On you always, even to the ends

Of the earth.

I understand now.

God forgive this

Charred reptile because

Yorkminster – I don’t remember you

At all.

Baden-Baden

The dizzying seasons in

Turn and return

Float wispy cotton angels

To grave and womb.

The stuffy, delirious,

Glittering German summer

Is brief as a naked dip

In a mountain pond and yet

It is god’s plenty

Because it always comes again.

Green, the heavy green

Of the quarter-infinite

German summer, lies on

The spectrum of human death.

There are no colors

For human life – life

Of the seasons claims them all

And human cycles are illusory.

Green, white, red and blue angels

Come to celebrate each first day again.

Take your time

Impermanence is fleeting

Summer will return again and again

The green hills, red hills, white hills

And blue hills will always be

There to be climbed and

There are litres upon litres

Of Weißbier to be drunk

Though not by you.