On my long road to death,
you come to me
from time to time.
Still my haven,
and well of shining love.
Your eyes are always open,
the light of my day and my dreams.
Each kiss a shadow swallowed,
a tender protest to the stars.
But life is not a dream,
just a tangle of new veins –
scratching at the heart of my soul.
But you still speak to me,
and over my body
your words spread.
Your name on every street,
on every river and sky range.
And my love for you,
still flies like petals
in a whirling flame.
 

 
To enjoy a rainy day,
with eyes closed.
Sometimes for its
knowing self.
Sometimes on
leaving any place.
An empty sickbed,
a wrenching in my chest –
and I would die standing.
On life an death,
rain passes by – only
endless change is left.

 
I met you in a dream,
early one morning.
I kneeled down
and kissed your feet,
you asked me for more.
And became a creature,
that gave birth to myself –
such a pleasant lot.
Exhausted, we drank tea
and opened the summer.
My gesture, was to
kiss you one more time.
But you told me
you had come far,
not to seek pleasure.
Led by a single star, you left.
And love was
replaced by fear.

 
How high it stands,
a young man’s love.
Eyes strained and yearning,
ascending the mountains crest.
But beyond, while
birds come and go –
it grows too thin.
Stolen by the wind, in night.
And mute, as dawn
sees saturated blue.
A life heavy with
fallen blooms.

Wei river –
plum blossom wildfire
on the banks.
Each wave,
a slow parting.
I follow spring,
a traveller by name.
Web – torn
from northern rocks.
A sweet song
of attachment.

 
My death sometimes
weighs more on my mind,
than a mountain.
And sometimes,
less than a single
plum blossom.
A shadow that I revisit
from time-to-time.
When the flowers
bloom in spring,
and the silver moon,
turns the rivers winter cold.
The remaining years,
growing old – and brushed
by the north wind.
I will turn back
for a few glances,
and smile at my old friend.
Drifting, and waiting for me.
But not today will we meet.

Spring morning, so still.
The sky stretching infinite.
Voices falling through
curtains of time,
each taking a turn rumbling.
I go out to the street,
and become a bird.
Enjoying range hills,
and rain falling
through jasmine.
A reader of the stars.

Had a dream
about you last night.
A bad penny returning,
or was it plain.
I held my breath,
as we did sometimes –
trying to catch the sun.
There was such
an unleashing of love.
Now I know why
poets fly so high.
Like snow geese,
winging it
Then the lies,
as you still lie.
Stifling the air,
and the end.

Unseen dawns
dazzle my eyes.
I’ve been walking
too many miles
on bad roads.
I was bled out
and flight broken.
All the toil blown away
in a scholar’s quest.
The temple indeed
had no luck, but
the roots remain.
Now, I await the sirens call.
We will meet again,
under those willows.
And tell each other
our stories.
Ready to ride again.

 
I can hear your heart
slowing down, crosses
in a shallow gully.
As we slowly approach
the black fence,
I refuse to think about
this conclusion.
The final hours tick by,
but I can still hear
the Spanish crickets sing.
Small creatures they are.
How easily they
accept everything.