How to Look Upon the World
Snow‑rain, banshees, the stuff between seasons;
fog rising on a frozen lake;
the gauze of the moon
borderless
behind the clouds at night;
children lying over the phone.
Life is Celtic and clean,
interlaced with illusion.
It’s a whisper‑thin plot in the Diamond Cutter’s Sutra.
It’s birds in the rain
outwaiting
in the trees.
Then thunder in 4 colors
and war in the east.
It’s children switching channels
on the hopelessness of Apache priests.
“La Vida es Sueño.” Not a catechism.
We live in a rock, alone in the weather.
We get worn. We get wise.
Our shadows move daily, our hearts never.