You, you only, exist.
We pass away, till at last,
our passing is so immense that you arise:
beautiful moment,
in all your suddenness,
arising in love,
or enchanted in the contraction of work.
To you I belong,
however time may wear me away.
From you to you I go commanded.
In between the garland
is hanging in chance;
but if you take it up and up and up:
look:
all becomes a festival!
Those who will not slip beneath the still surface on the well of grief,
You and I have spoken all these words / but for the way we have to go, words are no preparation
"I hope to God you will not ask me to go anywhere except my own country
In the heart of Gaza, where ancient stones whisper tales of endurance
In remembrance of the renowned jazz saxophonist, composer, and SGI Buddhist practitioner
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