A Rainbow With Hands

A morning tear on my cheek begins my day.
Am I tired out from yesterday's chase after answers
or saddened the answers remain in the dark?
It has been said by those who know,
We must choose to live with the questions.
I am glad the ache in my heart and the ache in my head
remain the same from one year to the next.
I still demand the same though time moves on.
And a precious daughter writes me notes of love
and a drawing of a rainbow with hands.


Seek beautiful dialogue
on the nature of answers.

The greatest possible number of answers
should not create the smallest number of questions.

Adequate answers should never satisfy
those who seek to live at the edge of time.

Beware of answers creating
a numbing of the mind.

Divine movement does not hide in answers
but in questions asked in awkward moments.

Picking Up Litter

I have placed discarded, empty bottles
into the trash can at the end of a day.

Why the bottles sometimes line the street
is a question beyond the gathering of my mind.

Garbage is garbage no matter where it lies
or so the thinking goes on those better days.

One day in the great memory bank of time
I will remember having picked up litter.

Will my place in the heavens after life be made,
having cleaned up for the world on these days?

And Now?

Looking at a journal entry 
from many years ago,
I run across the question,
Can I start over again?

Something simple, 
with a book or two.

How is it that I could have a life
and, at the same time, 
wish for another life?

Children crying.
A distant spouse.
My own indifference.

Too tired to even go to bed.

And now?