Sorting through some of the chaos of my study I found a hard copy of Otoliths, Issue Two, Part One, and in it this poem of mine. I'd forgotten about it, but I like it:

A Meditation

(for Jordan Stempleman, once again)

I
don't think
color or form.

Of
space, all
I know is

I
want to
be born again

as
water in
a shaken colander.

All
meaning is
mediated by calendars.


*

In retrospect, this piece is one of my best hay(na)ku outings.