For once my feet
on solid ground.
To the poets and
the Buddhists
I am bound.
The ink in my pen
flows into a wild sky.
And the dozing river
bleeds as the
mountains vents.
Over and over, again.
A river mirror
A Wandering Poet
As I walk around I like to record what I experience. Through poetry, ideas and thoughts I hope I can share some of these experiences with you.
A Wandering Poet 