top of page


My mother tried to tell me with her downturned

mouth trembling at the corners, “I wish

I had been better to my own mother.

You will see someday.”

And now here is my child,

but not mine nor a child.

My body is a downward pull,

but not like the downward pull of birthing him.

In this one, the skin succumbs to gravity. The eyes,

the jaw, know regret already.

Why didn’t I?

Appreciate and rejoice

in the sun with her, who cannot come back.

as well

the boy turned man,

as well

the dog, who never could stay

and even now

the other half of me, the man,

who too often

I don’t recognize as such.

I know how to… why didn’t I?

Rejoice when they were here in the bright Now.

instead of fading to the floor, a pulling

down, a weight.

I tell him my love, but with mouth sinking.

He cannot hear it and turns away from the bad news.

I will live the love now.

Yes. Or regret lives on.

Someone in me

says this;

Live the love even through hurt and pain

and the dragging down of regret will

be no more.

Turn the down

into up,

slowly if you must.

Fit less into the small time.

Fit more into the All time.


Qi Gong especially for the energy of this poem:


bottom of page