For some, every day
is like Sunday.
A distant boom
from a temple
Waiting for twilight to fall.
Grey haired
I write poems.
As tall as mountains.
As broad as rivers.
I wait only for you.
And a sweet kiss
that dampens my lips
Love is King of all.

You told me you love me.
Which is good for
the ears and the soul.
Then you showed
me the pictures.
A whistling memory
of wet lips and connected
bedside manners.
All living within our dreams.
So, we apply ourselves
to our path away
from the darkness.
And the water and
air are ours – yours and mine.

To bring comfort to cold hearts.
And address the fog
of emptiness and non-action.
That is something.
You do not need to
ask what is my power.
A single love that fills the ground.
by the river banks
and flowering reeds.
And those blue ripples that
dance around my body.
With every kiss and every touch.
That is power enough
for a thousand poets.
​

​A… teacher,
​a… poet,
​a… warrior.
​But most of all
​a… lover.
​These are the words
​in the heart of a lion.
They are whispers of longing.
That will catch you.
Like your breath.
As my fingers
trace your body.
A cacophony of moans.
That you cannot control.
Such a sweet sound.
​

All those beautiful
bodies waiting in line.
And the horses
loaded at the gates.
The old magpies circle above.
Their movements
dull and graceless.
No wonder we all
think about death.
It’s not their fault I suppose.
After all there is only
victory or the soft way.
But I waited with
the beautiful people.
And we all looked
up to the moon
through the raindrops.
As if everything
had been forgotten.

In the sky is heard
a blue-magpies voice.
Such freshness in
this dense sorrow.
A fable that is
light and humorous.
The streets cannot be lonely
deep within its warmth.
Even the winter sun breaks
through the strands of damp.
And the bright moon,
half- soaked with pain.
Feels neither joy nor sorrow.
But is once again able to
find the road home.

The world at our backs.
The foreign birds in hiding.
Feeding on their bitter
tears and lost causes.
And everybody is wondering.
Does this place allow love?
Not a deep dramatic
role to be found.
It is not easy.
But I look on your eyes.
and I can do better.
Whenever we talk, we embrace.
A reunion of souls.
And when we kiss,
a love of nakedness and lust.
Hearts wedded to the
turning sky and borrowed
seed that leaps inside.
Let us live in our
collective memory.

I stand alone
with all the common
states of mind.
And the devil that
poetry brings.
Through red sunlight
blue rain falls.
Warmer than the
winds of winter.
Towards the east
a jade hall opens.
A cool and cleansing joy.
Once again doctrines
are never sound.
And thick creepers
cover the old walls.

The foreign birds are
fearful of the sky.
They are fearful of the river
and choose to play
hide-and-seek with the
phases of the moon.
Barefoot in the cold
they huddle together
and run slant.
Almost in Orion’s grasp.
But I have you.
Pulling me in a sweet direction.
with lips open in sweet surrender.
And then I moan and move on
without any regrets or fear.
​

​Both the silent
​and those with voice.
​Are but drops of dew.
​Unable, and unwilling
​to transform themselves
​into the blue clouds.
​I seek not the vestibule
​to paradise.
​But a mind to grasp
​this infinite nothingness.
​And a soul to touch
​you once again.