improvised poem #1 For Cage and Watts

The channels no longer open, the great stones now lie horizontal, the yarrow stalks now returned to botanic enterprises, the brown rice lies sticky and cold in the pot. The plans are forgotten, the cultural guidelines melted together and identity now relies on self, not on other. I would dance but I've forgotten how. The chi no longer rises and the memories of lost youth overwhelm the spontaneous joy of each breath taken without thought, without malice, without fear. It is just breath and it comes and goes on its own. No heavy decisions, no requests in triplicate. It flows of its own will. Not mine, not yours, not theirs. It just does. Arashi