Dashi
I make dashi with water, dried bonito and seaweed,
and maybe a few drops of soy sauce for added flavor.
A simple broth, assembled by hand to enhance, a
concept mislaid in this pre-packaged world.
Today I have blown three notes through the shakuhachi,
each one separate, but all gathered under one roof
for no tangible purpose, released to entropy
and the drops coalescing on the window.
We never know what stew will result from the day’s
efforts, whose lips will force air through which root
end. I close my eyes and imagine the second note’s
shape, how it bells over raindrops to absorb
their sound, bending into the third note spiraling up
and away from my hands, my eyes, my breath.
* * *
“Dashi” and “Inheritance” first appeared in The Closed Eye Open, a publication focusing on consciousness. Many thanks to editors Daniel A. Morgan, Maya Highland and Aaron Lelito for taking this piece.
O at the Edges 
What a beautiful piece of writing.
“We never know what stew will result from the day’s
efforts, whose lips will force air through which root”
Triply lovely. ❤️
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Thanks very much, Joni!
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My pleasure. 🤗🤗
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Your poem’s references to tunes, notes, and air, remind me of this quote
“Songs are really just very interesting things to be doing
with the air.” … Tom Waits
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He speaks the truth!
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A wise man our Tom
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Yes, indeed.
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Congratulations, Bob.
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Thanks, Ken.
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