WHAT A DAY, THIS MOMENT

 

WHAT A DAY, THIS MOMENT

Misty, low visibility, sun

in back of it all, with seer light.

Change sun glasses for goggles

as lift operator hands me a chunk

of paraffin mixed with graphite.

Rub it on when snow gets soft out there

Stay safe. My Soul 7s,

powder ski gift of the son

on the mountain carry me.

The Great R imprint

on its tip, Mi Rocinante,

powder ride. Just after noon,

sun tipping towards west side

of Hogback Mountain, I ski

under red boundary rope loaded

with hoarfrost, a spectacle

stopping me before hiking.

Pure snow of pure land

Japanese Death Poems

from Samurai warriors

and night reading precursors

of Saigyo, Bashö, this

white walk songline ski

trek dream fragment

walking among tree stands

I’ve known thirty years.

Far enough now I get out

cameras, old standby Panasonic

video with wide angle lens

from when I had money

and an Iphone. Filming,

climbing. Pocket Rumi

from the backpack. Hold him

before the camera. Keep

climbing, keep descending,

feeling my way through trees

snow tracks as my way out,

guides at my back. Mathnawi

inside my covered eyes

Fasting is the first principle,

fast and hold, step fast, edge.

This hollowed out spot

opens a prayer camp

where I’ll unpack

the extra jacket--

blanket and table cloth--

apple, saltines, notebook.

Jim Bodeen

30 March 2021