Like a fossil tree, some stand.
Fated to live within a raging fire.
No more than gatekeepers
of the void.
And wondering what to do
with the rest of life.
But among the flames,
there are some who
behold the moon.
And echo the impermanence
of all things.
I think I will join them
and see the beauty in
their life and death.

When I had no love
I found you.
When I had no friends
I waited for you.
When those around me
could not bring me home.
You gave your body to me.
Thick and fast like
a winter snow storm.
In my strategy
I will come to you again.
Like the clouds
that cross the sky.
And you will think once more,
this is heaven.

All things are made to end.
Except the imputations from
this vile, detested, and
slanderous season.
As the innocent flowers fade.
Stifled of life and overwhelmed
by endless beseeching.
The only hope, that on
the last stroke of death.
Tongues dripped in suffering
will talk of these damning sins.
And the black, dry winds
forever blowing.
​

My heart walked
upon the path.
Memories come back to me.
“Is that your hands so
weary?’’ you asked me.
In a moment I was no longer
confused about the season.
The colour of my heart,
blooming like daffodils.
And another day
shines upon me.

The day outlined.
Or so they think.
On the samurai
side of my body.
Her skin and satin kiss.
Draws me inside – so willingly.
And all around the
beauty of nature unfolds.
Like a spring iris
tasting natures blood.
Today, I fight for love
and the art of softness.
Who is ready to argue with love?

Among unknown faces,
you are always there.
On the late-night sultry streets,
wearing that blue dress.
So soft to touch.
On the seashore
climbing to my lips.
By the lake lying
back to kiss, again.
And crying with
tears of happiness.
As you ride on
the merry-go-round.
Like a child under
some fortune sky.
Your beauty is
always mirrored
in my waveless moments.
And like that distant star,
I can still see you.
Wave after wave,
night after night.
Your body and your soul.
Teaching me how
to live in paradise.
And only wishing for eternity.
​

If nobody dances
what is to become of us?
Waves will crash over the rocks.
The poets will think no more.
The moon will no
longer be seen.
An ancient home
that will fall to ruin.
And what of the drifting
clouds above me?
Well, tangled weeds
will spread around.
And barefoot
everything will leave.
All wet with tears.

Billy Collins said
“The virus is slowing us down
to the speed of poetry.”
I say, I am slowed down
by listening deeply
to the pleas of despair
and silence of the woods.
All these years they have
carried your worries.
And your invisible disabilities.
Now the question is not
“How can I help?
But……
” Is it safe to be around you yet?”
My inner voice told me
‘Access is love’.
But you can never trust
your inner voice.
Or your graver thoughts.

When the day ended.
No letters or words existed.
And the evening sounds froze solid.
All that was left was
the white light from afar.
Returning to deep mountains.
But that is enough for me.
It is fun to dance with beauty.
On this cold autumn day.
​

​
​The sky is wandering.
​Looking for a splash of life.
​So I told the sky, look around.
​Fresh life stirs inward.
​And sparkles in a river’s time.
​Beginning, or end.