Not falling and not ignoring. Not today. Or any other day. I take the view that life is as you find it. Sometimes a cold moon floundering in a river. And we say goodbye to all that. Sometimes a spring-wind song. That is greener than ever. Over and over. Today…. Another poem. Another cup of coffee. That sweet morning greeting that makes me understand. That encounter, neither joy nor sorrow. And not falling and not ignoring. Not today.
Where am I to go, fade away? Confused in the head. I think not. For I say, I love a woman. And beyond the hateful mirrors. We share the loss together. This is the sacred flower.
Your love hides behind nothing. And your treasures are never sheltered. At least, not from me. I do not need translation. I do not wait for rain to fall on dry grass on cold summer days. For I have you. And this love will not fade beyond the horizon. It glistens on iris flowers, and beyond.
The Hangzhou sun alive as you and me. Daughters of Ra set into the sky. I see the floating nests. Standing against the void. But still drops of evening dew. All loving within the raging fire.
A poet grieving over stalled words. A sick wild magpie drifting through the cold nights. How precious you are in these moments. We still have miles to go together.
Still missing that place. A place to take my sadness. To click pictures and make history again. Only a few on our planet can do this. But I am not a lone dog anymore. For I have such a beauty waiting. And the strength for a new beginning.
Drizzly April – almost at an end. Sleeping or awake. I know what is a dream. And what is reality. It is the thing of spring. Some shelter from the world’s long rains. A cuckoo song. And hey, a new day has come.
I observe the sunrise. And the sun fall. I can name each room by the sun. Each one careening through me. It is, it isn’t The things we are here for? A smile, a hello, a touch. And the struggle ceases.
Too many people waiting for the lift. So, I took the stairs all the way to the sixth floor. There is no escaping it. I walked to save my visions. Idyllic steps, out of touch with the music of spring. But I walked anyway.
A Wandering Poet 