after letting go

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saturday spring mornings
(cool and still
flooded,

inundated
with desire)
draw me to the sweetnesses of sense
the pink and abundance of cherry blossoms blooming by the river
the smell and feel of salty air cascading from the rapidly moving tidal straight

memories of the refreshing taste of grilled cactus on a warm spring evening
the potent heat of my lover’s touch

i woke to craving
craving art
simple words drawn together in intricate ways
craving sounds of the city
(birds and river communing outside my open window)
craving the floral and rustic tastes of my morning earl grey
to escort me through newly opened doors in old-found dharma

i listen to Andrew Bird’s Echolocations: River
where a pizzicato fiddle
is the sound of cherry blossom pedals dropping into the roaring river
(after slow and steady descents

after letting go their flower, their tree)

where they ride
and are carried to some other small corner of this bustling city
perhaps to rest a moment on a nearby rock that hugs this narrow island
perhaps into the deep belly of the east river

the city is a strange place for the subtleties of nature
where they are easy to ignore
and are overshadowed by the loud voices of manmade things

alas, if you are still and listening
you can recollect the seeds
in the middle of the city
where the birds and trees and rivers hum
in a kind of brightness that hushes the loudest of sirens