On the streets,
a hard sun rising.
The beauty of the
flowers faded.
Scarcely had we met,
and it was already dawn –
leaving too much unsaid.
Now a new river calls,
and I float away –
quiet through bare trees.
Near the road
I see the bird.
Pecking and
pecking away.
Washed in sunlight
and a whispered song.
Not a sign of sadness
can I find, and my
loneliness snips away.
Hope comes again,
to fly so high.
I sat alone,
reading Murakami
and drinking black coffee.
Thinking about the past,
those distant places
mirrored in my eyes.
Reflected on the coffee,
a crimson cloud –
racing backwards.
Turning into an image
of ourselves whole.
Years after your death,
you still watch me.
I can hear drips
inside my dream,
a dark, disheveled room.
An old ache,
from our love.
And a clean vein from
the melody I’ve lost.
At 3 A.M.
I wake,
a momentary pulse
rubbed with static.
Your very shadow
still a deep rage.
Your inimitable face,
not really lost.
In an age like this,
who wants to
flit from grief to grief?
I hear a voice
saying my name,
and I enter with
relief some quiet place.
There is no memory
of her here, but new love
yearning to be taken again.
The night collapses
into my skin,
and I cannot
resist the touch.
A lightness to what
was underground.
From morning to evening,
the shape of your eyes
wraps around my soul.
The night breeze gathers in,
under the spring moon.
And I have a desire
to share everything.
Now alive, now burning,
enough with these
cautionary instincts.
Think of us, swallowed
by waves on vagrant waters.
And days of one kind,
filled with body and joy –
and a new longing.
The morning rain,
falling like threads of sorrow.
The leaves of the bamboo grass
rustle in the spring breeze .
I long for the mountains,
and the first kiss –
drenched with dew.
Lover, how long for you?
Gazing at the flowers,
Velvet Underground
singing ‘Sunday Morning’.
Spring clouds
swallow up my words.
Out of this blue,
a magpie’s cry
stabs the darkness –
that elixir before creation.
Now is the moment in time.
I don’t belong to anyone.
A Wandering Poet 