DAILY PHOTO: Rocky Scenes from Chitradurga Fort
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A Boy Named Rose by Gaëlle GenillerOh, there are so many: Voltaire, Kusunoki Masashige, Drukpa Kunley, Diogenes (the Cynic,) and Socrates top the list.
Oh, I've been in that dream:
door upon door to nowhere,
inexplicable nudity,
elements that seem fine
from a distance, but -
from up close - make no sense.
And then I saw the creature at her feet,
and knew I'd never been in that dream.
I can't fathom the genetic cocktail
that would need to be cooked up
to create such a monstrous pet.
And then it hit me that the winged badger-mutt
is not nearly the most disturbing aspect...
What are they looking at?

cattail metronome:
keeps time out of phase
with the tall grass.
Upon the ocean shore,
there is a rock:
hard,
black,
porous,
volcanic.
Gentle seas send ripples
against its base.
Stormy seas send waves
to relentlessly batter it,
crashing over its top.
Both the lapping waves
and the crashing waves
cart away parts of the rock --
one unit of grit at a time.
The lapping waves need patience;
the crashing waves need energy,
but they both insist a tax be paid
for their labors.
Just looking at the rock,
one can tell it was once different:
bigger,
its pores filled
with other rock -- softer rock,
rock that the sea long ago turned
into sandy bottoms and beaches.
The rock is dissolving like an ice cube,
except in geologic time.