LE POINTE DU JOUR
(the point of day - daybreak)

le bon cemin de rouge durante vita'
(give me) the good red road during life
.
et l'etoile du nord
and the north star (to guide me)
.
voila', vigueur de dessus
see there, strength from on high
.
vis a vis avec mon nom de guerre
face to face with my war name
.
allons, mon ami, a' l'outrance
come on, my friend, to the death
.
le vrai, mon ami, a' l'outrance
the truth, my friend, to the death
.
rien n'est, beau que le vrai
there is nothing beautiful but truth
.
entre deux feux, entre deux vins
between two fires, between two wines
.
vous, front 'a front avec moi
you face to face with me
.
l'amour et la fumee' ne peuvent se cacher
love and smoke cannot be hidden
.
goutte a' goutte, je n'oublieraii jamais
drop by drop, I will never forget
.
allons, mon ami, a' l'outrance
come on my friend, to the death
.
le vrai, mon ami, a' l'outrance
truth, my friend, to the death
.
rien n'est beau que le vrai
there is nothing beautiful but truth.

intro to Bridges and Rivers:
time never stops moving (seemingly)
places never stop changing
things are never the same but
are always the same
like the river in this poem coming up
this is about one moment, another moment and the bridges between them
where once there was one bridge, now there are two
one old and one new, opening the way back pages
stirring up what is gone, yet also forever
once the red giants danced here in great numbers
then the town was named after the stumps that were left after they fell
what was once Stumptown is now Guerneville.
the Russian River runs through it and relflects all
there is nothing beautiful but truth.

---

BRIDGES AND RIVERS

the old bridge held us
while she swayed against me
above the dear Russian River
as peeking moon splashed its steel
it was a paved and stretched gazebo
and I tried to talk to her about it
moon on the side, laughing
deep in the river below
.
we held each other
she was so high and funny
in a breeze full of pungent June
whose brushing invisible feathers
whispered through sequoia
oaks and willows
what the gentle wind only knows
my drum beats where that river flows
.
redwoods held the edges
of the lights that were flowing
and the inky sky as it bloomed
with random smatters
of distant flickering flowers
dancing above that moon
so deep in this river
reflecting all where e're it goes
.
now there are two bridges where once was one
above this river that never leaves yet always runs - away
and I see so clear with my eyes closed
across empty long gone rivers in time
through years and stretched gazebos.

---

COWBOY BUDDHA

I saw the cowboy buddha
walking in the sand
his mount grazing in the clouds
while his boots made no traces
on the dune
which by the way was as empty
of sign as his holsters
and his old gunbelts ammo loops
.
I heard the cowboy buddha
making not a sound
smiling a silence to an osprey wind
that carried a calm and shimmering mirage
mirroring imaginations images
.
the wind's an overture
to the four directions
with notes that gently lifted
the slippery quiet
to new heights
of rinzai rodeo
he don't need no spurs
just tickles that equines ears
and breathes a mantra that's pure wind
.
ride, cowboy buddha, ride

---

BANGING DEEP IN THE STREET

watched the beemers flickering
caddies gone and glittering
chronics at the wheels
rockin on their heels
music gnashing bumping
subbys street thumping
dark dark windows and bright bright chrome
up in the head and down in the bones
some in blue and some in red
this side of alive on the way to dead
heaters for their hands and pedals for their feet
shallow in life but real deep in the street.

---

GOLF

life is a game of golf
drive and chip and putt, all swings,
bound and powered and defined by skill and fate and luck,
into movements causing movements causing movements.
each swing is as unique as any group of words
that leap or fall from any clicking keyboard,
moving mouth or racing pen.
.
the game is precious.
.
every play is the most important
in the game of journeys through and to and within the many journeys.
short cuts and scenic tours, (when you hit it right)
verdant hills and bare dry bunkers, (when you don't)
trimmed fairways stretching off
through rough and tangled edges.
hazards and greens,
alive and waiting for each and every swing.
.
we all walk or ride from lie to lie,
stop and stand ready to touch an be touched by moments of truth.
.
we swing and it soars or rolls away,
and like all the rest,
sent best,
it falls from sight.

---

THE TRICK

the trick of death
is to fool us into not living
.
to know the trick
is sometimes of no avail
.
beyond the successful trick
is everything we know not
.
this side of the trick
is what we have to make the best of now
.
too much time spent with the trick
wastes precious moments we could be more
.
the trick
is to be