Ho Chi Minh

back again
   this time, I remember the streets
I remember
      how people flood through cities
   like drops of water
In the rainy season
   there is always something flowing.

Bulb

I have been ready-
now making myself,
as I always have.
Time in motion
again, or at last
truly stopped.

Not sure where
the time passes more-
in change
or in stasis.

A spring bulb
buried in the earth
does both
woody brown nut of stasis
soil, earth, and blossom
green leaf arrows
pointing toward outer space,

But I think a bulb
is always changing,
no such thing as stasis,
just a different
pace of life,
just too slow
for our senses, like
the immovable earth
grinding its tectonic teeth
raising mountains in silence
to our eyes

and evolution
the making of humans
in graduated steps
of changes paused
in moments of being.
DNA is a bone
but also a ripple.
We never really
stand still.