Orange drops of light.
Creeping over the city.
A poet crawls upward.
Once, alone in burning fields
and full of welling thoughts . . .
Thinking, how long
can this go on?
Now, joyous and free.
All things bring me pleasure.
When your mind
is still and kind.
A brightness dispels
the darkness.
Everything is enshrined
within us, and nothing more.

​

​
​I woke up this morning.
​My first thought?
​Chasing after the world
​is not good for me.
​So, my task today.
​To let the world
​take care of itself.
​And look for delusion
​and truth, within myself.

I sometimes think back.
to a native land.
Knowing well the
darkness of the streets.
And a sense of inferior fate.
But that was then.
Now, the streets,
so immense –
lead to a different place.
To a fearless life
holding everything high.
That is all …

​A single sun
bright and clear.
Feeling the streets
under my shoes.
Warm coffee
and a path to follow.
So distant from
the troubled world.
I think I will keep
on walking.

One instant.
I looked up to
the moon in autumn.
And thought to myself,
eternity is now.
Nothing is either
emptiness or fullness.
So, I choose not to sink
to the root of either one.
This is the right beginning

It was an evening
to receive the
deep autumn cold.
I heard your voice.
“Walk and be silent”, you said.
I scooped up the words
and returned home.
Some life remains.
I was glad to be alive.

I saw you again
in my dream.
A felt sense
of the visual.
Roses in a
summer garden.
Full of erotic
conversations.
And the senstiveness
of your fingers.

Then it was gone.
The form, the
simple repetition
of a conscious
experience.
And the love
that was not
able to travel.
I wished you
well, forever. ​
​

I burned incense and meditated.
Then I walked the streets.
Words came like plum rain falling.
I thought, this is the best of me.
To dwell in the moment
And no more than this.

​Today then, is the day.
​Winter arrived in the city.
​I said farewell to the autumn sun.
​Now, dark of days and nights.
​A thousand streets all one colour.
​Past wanderings just
​distant memories.
​But, I have no regrets.
​Nor current grief.
​I will find words
​on these winter days.
​Enough to keep me warm
​through the long night hours.

​My words pile up.
​Outside an autumn
wind blows.
​Rustling through the
suffering trees.
​When the words
and wind cease.
​My soul starts.
​Nothing is missed.