[He is pruning the privet]

He is pruning the privet of sickly sorrow   desolation in loose pieces of air he goes clip clip clip the green blooming branches fall—‘they’re getting out of hand’    delirious and adorable    what a switch we perceive        multiple identities     when you sing     so beautifully     the shifting clouds  You are not alone is this world not a lone  a parallel world of reflection in a window keeps the fire burning in the framed mandala,  the red shafted flicker sits on the back of the garden chair in the rain the red robed monks downtown in the rain  a rainbow arises simple country      practices thunder lightning,  hail and rain    eight Douglas Iris ribbon layers of attention So   constant creation of ‘self’ is a tricky mess    He is pruning the loquat,   the olive which looks real enough in the damp late morning air May 15, 1995