I dreamt I was in
Hong Kong last night.
Back in the day.
Alive and alone as you.
Trim ankles walking around.
A feast for my eyes.
Everything was bold and urgent.
And there was music
in the midnight air.
So, I took a sip.
And a man speaking Cantonese
came to mop up the words.
I moved on.
Looking for new words
on the tip of a future pen.

To quench my thirst.
I read Li Bai.
As plain as snow on the hill.
Sometimes, I read Bukowski.
And listen to all he declares.
But mostly, I listen to myself.
Sometimes showing the
shadows of an inner soul
For I have love still to feel.
And the path others take
is not the same.

It was all that I could see.
This belittling thing
called indifference.
Such a devil of emotions.
But I think that form is emptiness.
Not half as sharp.
When you have words
that describe flowers on
the others side of the mountain.
So, I will continue my journey.
To a land on the other shore.
And lead myself to the way.

​Summer come.
​The poets mask
​reveals the poet.
​No longer a
​cherry-blossom dawn.
​Or stormy echoes
​of the past.
​But a new path
​with new life-viewing.
Far away from all
this rice-grinding.

​

On a soft breeze,
the earths pressure
on the streets.
But some things hold.
Purer than the truth.

A mesmerizing face.
A kiss to taste.
And a clutch act of flesh on flesh.
I don’t have to try
to remember this.

The twisted streets
stand almost erect.
With smiles of good intention.
As the dawning summer
arrives on a gust of wind.
Full of unspoken thoughts.
I’m so glad that you are here.
To light the air before me.
And give me such a heavy
thought-filled sleep.
​

It’s strange, like a dream.
I used to tame lions,
then the bees.
Back breaking work, it was.
Now, the rolling streets
dared in a foreign tongue.
With words, engraved in stone.
Jump the fence without a care.
And life is better where you stand.
​

​Blue ghosts fire
​in the black rooms.
The conversations have
ended, almost.
Yet, the glimpse I had
of the moon flowers in bloom.
And spring buds searching
for one another.
Enough to see me through
a thousand lifetimes.

​

As it turns darker,
the waves of love turn stronger.
The temple bells stop.
And the fallen flowers gather
But I still hear the calls
coming from the island sky.
“My heart is your home’
A new level for us.

Life, with every word and song.
High as the listening lilies.
I do not choose to live in hope.
For I have control
of these devouring eyes.
And everything fragile
will disappear from my sight.
Drifting away like white clouds.