harlan epstein

artist | theater-maker | poet | dork

The Buddha in My Window Box Faces Away

“You’ll find,” he says,
“The rest’s just
pain and promises of pain.
What Hurts / What Will
You know?”

I think –
Long as it’s all the same to you –
I think I’ll be a firework today;
Burn! Fly! Burst! Crackle! Fizzle out!
Then dissipate before–

I land, I guess.
The me that is a firework,
I mean.
Or will have been.

Do fireworks have shells?

Sorry, I know,
I’m all endings today.
Endings and penultimates.

But still,
I have to think –
there’s more than sitting
in the shadow of lilacs
hearing fireworks

Hanabusa Itchō, Japanese, 1652–1724. The Death of the Historical Buddha (Nehan-zu), dated 1713

the death of the historical buddha [detail]
hanabusa itchô, 1713

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.
—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

one art – elizabeth bishop

if you want to reach me,
leave me alone

- sheryl crow (a change would do you good

[just kidding i'm very lonely please write to me]