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Sunday, June 9, 2013


A Buddha made from bugs

A piece by Jan Fabre

This poem was published in my book WHERE THE STARS ARE KEPT, published by Rattlesnake Press, Pollack Pines, Ca in 2007.  The book is out of print.


There seem to be small lights
In the water, just at the edge of the dock.
I've been watching them for hours.
They flick on and off, changing colors,
Making random patterns just
Below the surface.  They do
Not appear to be attached to anything.
Rather, signals from below the water,
Defragmenting,  some larger
Information, condensing space,
Too small to be seen otherwise.

A word appears.
It is displayed briefly but
Again, it reads.
Then Look, quickly followed by
Time, This, Here, Changing.
Moment, Practice, Stillness.
Then Nothing.

The patterns do not return.
A number of fish gather where
These lights have been; breaking
The surface, falling back, flashing
Silver sides as they do.

I don't expect anyone to believe
This.  I was alone.  The place
Was remote.  The evening was a quiet one.  
These things happen occasionally.
We consider them wonders.
Talking lightening, a display of bio-
Luminescence, a new way to
Communicate, a privilege to observe,
To see and hear things all around us.
Knowing the night and the day.
Hurling through space on
A beautiful blue planet,
Counting all the stars as we do so.

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