Zen and a Steaming Pile

zen and three leashes
two clipped to dogs
the third, invisible,
psychological, instinctual
and connected to my eyes, heart
and my son, Finn
wandering at his own
slower-than-the-dogs pace
through the towering oaks
and locusts all but the
occasional magnolia-
leafless despite
the mildness of this Portland winter

each morning is an unsteady
hand and brush inking an
enso around this life in which
despite love
i search for meaning

zen and a steaming pile
of dog shit
two piles,
zen and two piles
on a good morning
when my futility at least
allows my dogs the joy
of emptying their bowels
both dogs, both bowels
zen and scented powdered
biodegradable plastic bags
in which i stoop and
palm shit piles
savor a moment of warmth
plastic shit gloves
for my glove-less hands

zen and squinted eyes
tired despite abundance of
sleep
coffee
and comfortable life

zen and Finn pinching his
angelic nose
wrinkling the flesh
where his un-furrowed
by experience brow
meets that little pointed
nose
when he pinches it and says,
“stinky!”

zen and stolen bicycles
zen and Finn pouting,
climbing into the cast aside
kid trailer, left behind
by the bicycle thief.
zen and the purity
of a child screaming
“I don’t want to take the car!
I want to ride the bike!”

zen and my chaotic mind
disallowing peace
despite the enso’s lasso
roping in the void,
the dream,
the flow of life’s river
ripping past my
still man attempts

zen and letting go
zen and being flow
zen and hang-ups
zen and joblessness

zen and pride in spite
of negative self-image
zen and coffee, ink, poetry

zen and sunshine to
blaze a blinding
enso across
magical blue sky