The End of Nothing: Shelter-In-Place
Do nothing: advice
from the Buddha
which shadows
the phase
Standstill
marked in the I Ching
It is not that the meek
shall inherit the earth
Because no one will
Not exclusively
It’s more like the way
we used to answer
the phone. Who may I ask
is calling?
Spoken to the mystery
at the other end
of the line
Empty possibility
before the first word
of any conversation
Where every caller
exists nameless
Space left open
to the kindness
of no expectations
an intimacy
where there is
nothing to do
but listen.
Virus Heading Toward Winter, Reading the Auspices
…Auspices: Observation of birds for the purpose of taking omens
Three crows, points on a moving triangle
the air over the snow awash
in caws. Riffs of syncopation.
I took that to mean
our luck would soon change
the way I needed
to stop alarm, its bristle
and chill running
across my scalp.
I hoped, the way a child
at the window is sure
her mother can stop
the rain –– even as slippery
streaks cover the glass
in a spotted blur.
My mother taught me to wish
on stars, to light a candle,
drop a coin in the box
beside any patron saint.
It works better if you have
faith though the ending
begged for is never
the answer to the equation.
Squinting at the sky
I never saw the barred owl land
Presence without an arrival.
Brown omen in dead
oak branches. He offered
camouflage, his only clue.
Above him, silence.
