Sitting on the bench,
the brazen Turkey with the club foot.
Knowing the human predator
suspended in these wandering yogis.

Knowing somehow they are taken by something greater
knowing their first utterances,
overheard only by themselves
dropping them only deeper;
the silence of this impossible place.

The white tailed kite, sitting so still
suspended above our valley
both wings in unison
hovering at the edge of its own
insubstantialness;
body still, eyes everywhere.

Here the visible and invisible
show us how our ego -- mad mind
dreams on and on. Questioning what's real, who's real,
heralding the ancient panic.

Here on this ground, the wave breaks
leaving you only sky
vast empty sky
a groundlessness
that sparks the panic
which lights the flame again.

One wing which holds one above the valley
empty-- maybe just emptyness.
in the other some old flame with its warmth
and uncompromising light;
one holding the void the other to touch our world.

You knew you came to die.
Seeing through all the fabricated selves,

the warmth and light only things left .
please take my hand
the world knows you
they have been waiting.
-- sanity and compassion.

yesterday this was me, today not sure