​
​Today, in Hangzhou.
The sun chased after me.

In a world of silent bells,
I will take it gladly.

Words sprout thick.
Too new to cover with dust.

In the distance several cars
go on their way meaninglessly.

So, I sat down and watched
the streets flowing.

And in the new morning
we are sure to meet again.

​
​Search carefully
in the streets.
You will see
a sweet song
of attachment.
Something real
in this painful world.
And the magpies
sing all day of the
coming summer.
Yet the days
are never long enough.
Too much rain
where the sun should be.
​

​
​Aged – drinking coffee.
Enough words
beneath my feet.
The May clouds
all at ease.
And the blue magpie
crying for its nest.
This is a life.
Not a journey’s end.

​
​I must go out
​through the streets
​that are crammed
​with memories.
​Half out of duty and
half a poets curiosity.
But these are brief deviations.
Soul searching moments
in the middle of life.
The cosmos will be searched
and the feelings will come.
And one by one,
my steps will die away.
Then, only the words will be left.
My preface to silence

​

Some people wonder
what do with the
rest of spring.
And cannot think
about taking a
not-knowing position.
I just keep walking
with poignant memories.
Along the riverbank I see
a butterfly’s torn wing.
Slender, so slender.
Just barely enough to tilt
my head away from this world.
Learning deeply from this tragedy
I keep walking and listen
to the river for music.

​Silently,
I look straight ahead .
As I write,
I fill my mind
with thoughts of
words welling
from the fire.
And a love that
has not yet been taken.
True love in never taken.
It is carried always.

Once there was a dream.
That floated into days,
weeks, months and years.
Then there was no breath
and the conversations ended.
Those last words
burned into my heart.
Each one roaming around
the Manchester hillsides.
Piercing every rock.
This was all that was left
of the warriors’ dreams.
A single magpies cry
sinking into stone.

A bruised horizon.
Not today.
There is a world of dew.
In each drop, a struggle.
But there is something else.
A space,
the word beautiful
and you.

​
​Things must have
been different once.
​Moon, sun and stars
​closer together.
​Now the world seems
​to sink into some
secluded spot.
​Clinging on with
​an infants fingernails.
​But I have had
​lost love restored.
​And a new dance began.
​Everything for a memory to hold.

I write loosely.
To fill the spaces
between your lips and mine.
Behind the jasmine
there is just love.
And all the shadows tremble.
Wishing to be in this world.
​