[1]

I am - and herein to feel the warmth of this cold room
overflow from an upstairs toilet buckling the ceiling,
as the walls drip leaky pipe cockroach freedom -
drifting paper thoughts and stale mattress shelving,
an army of dog-eared books gather zen dust-bunnies
visualizing the nothing that is something in particular
sitting zazen with your love among the white clouds.

[2]

Earthquake proofing and an I-beam poet's blood
collect outside the Ellison's collective dharma bin
living one in the moment at a time.

[3]

Everything a force of Heavenscent
from the ragged edged darkening outside -
hour after hour settled in sentient prayer.

[4]

Sand bleaches the eye
of feet bleeding poverty.

[5]

The walls begin pealing a second time,
the dog found starving is dying again,
and the house mice have left the scene
living amist giant Buddha dreams.

[6]

Alone one together,
and then the other -
where seagulls abound,
one to another's calling.

[7]

Blessed oil cloister embracing
God-drenched icons prior to death's
squeezing heaven of its last drop.

[8]

As your late husband John's voice echoed:

What this building needs is an exorcist!

[9]

And as Philomene said to me:

At this point I can almost hear
what you have not yet written.