The Season

The fire started in Soberanes
canyon, has spread now over
45,000 acres; someone left
a campfire “unattended” so 50+
houses burned down, one guy
dead. And in a year, it’ll be
a good season for morels.

Reading a translation of Dogen
who tends to repeat himself.
I seem to be shifting from writing
to painting. Very little focus
these days, the brain too full

to submit to any sort of rigor
and the details of myriad
memories are in there somewhere
but now some are harder to get;
for example, I was going to
stop writing poems online,

was going to write only by
hand in notebooks. Instead
I’m drawing diagrams for
paintings, and now writing
a kind of poem here because

it’s a curative. Medicinal. I’m
my own arbolaryo, have to
shake out the words over this
charred landscape.