This morning
    A runner splashes past me near
I sense is  related to one at Avebury

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Green leaves
from the
Vagina Tree, large

the damp
bare earth.

I attend a demonstration of various Martial Arts. The Karate kids slide in, loose white gi gathered in with white, green, brown, or black belts. Why do they look so pretentious performing kata? When I hear the instructor intends to get us all on the floor, I can't leave fast enough.

I take a trolley downtown. Recently designed in the Czech Republic in lollipop colors, they glide over shiny new tracks, bodies twisting around corners at the waist. "Is there a reading tonight?" I ask at the bookstore."It's been canceled." "Why?" "The war." "Which gods are feuding tonight?"

On the to-be-shelved cart I find a tattered copy of Marian Mountain's The Zen Environment. Thirty years after we met at Tassajara Springs, I wonder if this woman, extraordinary in my memory, is still swimming free of proper nouns.  


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