At Cuyamaca—Published in San Diego Poetry Annual 2012

Sangha today is an
Oak and a jay and
An empty fire grate
With a beer can
I sit for short times
But keep writing rhymes
Taking pictures, but what of my real plan?

But you plan it, you lose it
So I never use it
Sitting still is like sitting on cactus
So I write and I wait
And it seems that my fate
Is not to continue this practice