Bruce Ross

Waiting Too

Before one exercises freedom, one exercises compassion. Is a Sufi-like flow of energy, freedom in its most concentrated form, somehow floating above the tangible expression of sharing in the suffering of the world? Is the world itself really, as poets have said, there for the looking, as Levertov said, "taste and see"?

outside the window
a tiny bird waiting too
cold spring rain . . .

Opening one's heart to the One or opening one's heart to this one? Is one's pathos that one's pathos? Is the world too much with or not enough with us?

a light drizzles . . .
picking up magenta azaleas
for Thoreau's grave