When I was a Buddha, my radiant body rang like a bell.
a gall wasp’s
empty oak apple
gone to seed
moonrise
shadows open
their wings
evening sun
showing me where to dig
Dad’s grave
sapless trees
I’m already passing
that distant lake
deserted trail
dead leaves rising up
to dance
bright graffiti
through the autumn hills
this freight
wilderness peak
checking my phone
for a signal
leaves falling
through low sun
a yellow-shafted flicker
woodbine
gone to seed
a traveler’s joy
shapes in the clouds
a lone kayaker raising her phone
boulder field
letting the wind help
fold my map
bare sandstone
in my earliest memories
you were granite
