i sing nothing nothing nothing


trees and daffodils,
poet’s heaven, not,
poet’s hell, yes.

will i earn myself a peek
if i describe it?


how about
if/when revisiting hell
the knowing of heaven
makes all
not knowing
poet’s hell

i like to believe it is the meeting
of very old poet friends
and then what says she

you’ll never see clearly
the other side
but you can get close
and you can come back
more aware

who knows what i’m reaching for
i see a big full moon in the sky
a reflection of my globe
lamp that looks more like a pumpkin

de Buddha asks me for whom do i write
for myself
and i’ll print
for my Finder tomorrow

we’ll have a good laugh
and brotherhood
from sea to shining s.