If there is only one love.
Let it be a blue barbet.
To hold between the lips.
Until the pain and suffering,
is dissolved into ecstasy.
And that impossible springtime.
Is now permitted and fed each day.
Then, life will offer no greater reward.

The clouds in the sky
have nothing to say.
Grief, lurks in the shadows.
Old age, sneaks into your bones.
A ceremony of dead spirits.
Each day, I walk – loosing.
Facing death – and memories
of roses thrown into the coffin.
 
But, spring days are always there.
A myriad of green leaves.
Enough for life – and cats
crossing in love.
And, in a moment – you are there.
The shadows overlapped,
touching and kissing again.
A life note, from far away.

Puzzled as you are,
by my success.
You head gone,
in an ancient cloud.
No witnesses,
no whiteness.
How shall we tell?

There is always two,
to read the poems.
A world suspected,
beckons to new places.
Mingled with the scent
of wild strawberries.
A simple statement,
alive by reason.

Nothing left but rain,
and towers of bones.
Animals dance lazily.
No shame, the blame.
 
If you have a soul,
you can’t give it away.
Wanting the sun now.
No shame, the blame.
 
Fire burning, and I read
Bukowski and Dickinson.
Their words are some, small relief.
No shame, the blame.
 
Relentless, your condition.
You cry, for yesterday
And I, allow myself to be.
No shame, the blame.

First winter snow

A street washed white

Each step repeated

Only the moon is mine

Come, let’s go.

And walk by the Wei

Cracking the winter sun.

In this world of colour.

A love grown thick

and fireflies singing.

The softest rumble

seeding everything.

You emerged
from my exile.
To cover my soul.
A magpie cooing,
and shout from the sea.
In trees of light,
stretching to
crowd the sky.
I now see hope,
and fire dances.
High, high
among the stars.

An afterglow,
from those
plum rain days.
Illuminating now,
those dark spaces
between the stars.
A snowflake gently falls,
kissing my lips.
And it seems
like the blue moon,
touching the earth again.
 

 
A final dance.
Road tolls, paid
already – in blood.
Hopes felled like dominoes.
But not mine.
The rumors of light,
are true – as light
calls to light.
Sneaked in on
a blue train.
Along a valley of life,
and jazz – no longer hidden.
 

Outside, the new
moon is rising.
Resting in the exact
spot, for decades now.
The ghosts, I picked up
along the way.
Lying prostrate
by the river.
Reflecting of jealousy
and unrequited love.
Each one, sinking deeper
into cold salacities.
Offered by lusty gewgaws.
Trying to hide their
silence in living.
And noise in death.