Desert Pelicans

Once a decade in Australia

a small group pelicans leave their safe harbor

and the lure of fast food from dumb tourists

to fly towards the fiery center of the continent

as if they had never heard of Icarus

They begin before a cloud has even formed

with no guarantee of rain

journeying to a place

that has been parched for nine long years

called by intuition and a deep yearning

As if the flapping of their wings

and the certainty of their faith

could stir the atoms in the air

a thousand miles away

(like the butterflies and their hurricanes)

the first drops begin to fall in the desert

enlivening ancient riverbeds and tributaries

which, contrary to all reason,

begin to flow inland

instead of out to sea

Soon, the transient lake begins to form

and with the magic kiss of rain

the brine shrimp are awakened

from their decade of dormancy

like sea monkeys in the wilderness

They will be food for other types

of Rip Van Winkle marine life

and with perfect timing

the pelicans arrive at the promised land

now teeming with fresh fish

Forget the milk and honey

there's bony bream and saltwater here

and plenty of room to build a nest

to raise a chick and teach it how to soar

how to be wild and free and full

All the while, the pelicans who stayed behind

can't even imagine what they are missing

they are happy to live the life of least resistance

content with wildlife welfare and trash heaps nests

until they have completely forgotten how to fly

Oh that I may always be a daring desert pelican!

Breathing lessons

My yoga instructor

breathes in and out

with the sound of a

rushing Colorado river

when she nods to me

I inhale and exhale

like an elderly man

with a prostate problem

she tells me that I am

holding my breath

that I must let it

flow freely

I try, but it makes me dizzy

and soon I have forgotten

how to breathe entirely

I fear I might drown

with her hand on my stomach

she tells me to breathe

with my diaphragm

not my nose

which makes no sense to me

suddenly I am an alien

with a malfunctioning respirator

and earth's atmosphere

threatens to crush me

could there be anything more

elementary than breathing

it is the first thing we do

when we enter this world

and the last thing we do

when we leave it

and yet here I am

stuck in between

trying so hard

to get it right

as if taking a breath

were like taking a class

and respiring

the newest Olympic event

how do I become a babe again

like before the storms came

and taught me to hold my breath

to survive the unexpected waves

that forced me underwater

tossed me like a stray sock

in a washing machine

I learned to gasp

when I had the chance

quick sharp breaths

for long hard times

and so air has become

a commodity for me

and I am a miser

holding on for dear life

feeling like I am keeping it

when really it is keeping me

the only way to be free

is to be generous

and in letting go, I am inspired

Allergy sufferer's haiku:)

the box of kleenex

is covered in bright flowers

a cruel irony

Timing

The snow melts on contact

all of its icy intention

disintegrating upon impact

I feel sorry for this snow

and its ill-timed birth

just a few short weeks ago

it would've risen

to impressive heights

in all its glittering glory

but today it falls silent

inspiring only annoyance

where it might have inspired awe

what a powerful fate timing is

creating stars from soda jerks

during the lunch hour rush

one day

and sending a waiter

into the black waters of obscurity

because an agent orders delivery

the next

a triumphant crystalline palace

or a soggy patch of mud

all determined by a few degrees

and the direction of a gust of wind

The First

Sir Edmund Hillary

is born anew this day

in the crocuses

that rise against all odds

adventurers blazing a trail

through the snow

while the timid wait

for more hospitable conditions

content with the comfort

of solid ground

but the tiny white buds

push on with the goal of

touching the sky

upward they climb

stretching towards the peak

flags unfurled

and so gain the glory

of the first full bloom

Losing battle

Winter won't go down without a fight

death, it turns out, has quite an ego

like one of those self-important types

who has to have the last word

as if there is ever a last word

what a blow it is to discover

one's impermanence

and so it rages while it can

clawing the sky, spitting with fury

at the troops of buds advancing

with the battle cry of singing birds

desperately it tries to defend its reign

declaring war on the world

and foolishly spending

all of its resources

on a losing battle

too blustery to understand

that death is no match

for Life

Let sleeping gods lie

Oh to sleep how a dog sleeps

all puffing jowls

and limp paws

wholly dedicated

to the most comfortable

position possible

lying on the back

legs stretched long and free

eyes rolled back under closed lids

or sometimes open lids

doesn't matter if the lights are on

doesn't matter if the TV is on

they are deaf and blind

to the whirring world

such dedication is a wonder

how must it feel

to engage in the kind of rest

that is unhindered by guilt and worry

no thought of tomorrow's bills

or the present state of politics

and unemployment rates

rising in the year to come

there is no year to come

there is only this fleece blanket

there is only this moment

and this moment is for sleeping

so here they lie

furry little snoring buddhas