there is fire in dirt.      see it swim.     remember half that’s unseen.

             fragments, they gather themselves.     stories laid on a plate.

             dirt is a wolf waiting its turn.
 
 

unanticipated.

just wait.   patience will reveal a face.

in a dragon-dream dragons are far more
flexible, threaded well.   carefully whimsical.

a head may be nothing more than one
sidewise glance.   no flame ignited.

if you wondered, red is where I’m going,
yellow is what I’ve already eaten.
     nothing is now a mystery.

     a father, a mother, want being known.

     dragons too.
 
 
 

granular

it is the desk.   it is the lamp.   the lamp is turned on right now.
it is the stack of three books.   thesaurus on the table behind and left.
it is the pen.   it is the ink.   it is also a luminescent screen.
       this movie I see.   even like, right now I am.   a movie I mean.
I am this big.   two hands held this-much apart.   that much.
see?   got a match.   responding to a change in scenery.   please,

warm me up like one white star.   just enough, the bear, she says.

 
 

rules

I like dirt.   dirt feels comfortable.   in my hands, seems a natural of way to be.
       like rocks are, you know.

as a kid, I had a simple rule about clothes.   if you couldn’t sit in the dirt, stand up, brush yourself off, be alright.   then your clothes were too fancy to wear.
       OK, a boys rule, fair to probably say.
 
 
think my feet have grown too far from dirt.   barefoot as a child.   dirt, burrs, twigs, rocks, no matter.   now, not for love nor money.   well… maybe love.

under-rated I think.   starting from nothing, tell me please
how would you make dirt.

       god had that problem once upon a time.
 
 
 

dirt

sometimes you know, dragons like to roll in the dirt.
       can you detect their smile.

alright sometimes dragons look like a dog.   good boy, you roll in that dirt.

sometimes a cat, both house and wild, sensibilities shared.
dirt has a scent of prayer you know.   ripe.

maybe a bird, some do, or a badger perhaps.

sometimes me.

       or a big ol’ pile of leaves, that will do.
       words are a lot like dirt.   a lot like leaves.

best if you get a running start.   crossing my fingers, means it’s true.

       see.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
image: Zen in November #1, Laura Bloomsbury PoetryPix
a very worthwhile collection of poetry and masterful photography.
image used with her kind permission (and my big thanks!)

please do be sure to click on the header image above, else you’ll miss something really good.   (I know some folks don’t.   so this time, do.)

still don’t like question marks.   no excuse.