​
​All moving things
​have an ending.
​An autumn gust.
​A knotty branch
​with no love.
But my business in
this world is not
yet complete.
Blow as life will.
I lean against my love.
And fireflies are
all year round.
This is not a death poem.
​

​Spring has come to Hangzhou
Coffee wandering walkabouts.
The music of the city
draws longing souls.
Leafless boughs sing out for life.
And fills this loving heart.

​To walk around,
​not with eyes.
​But a poets mind
​and silent feet.

​From time- to-time
​caught by life.
That always leads
​to my love.

The word business
arrived in the classroom.
New seeds sown along
with high afternoon tea.
Outside the sweetest
of absences blew me a kiss.
For a moment
I was all eyes.
knotted to the
beauty of my love.
Her hair combed smooth
Her lips red among
yellow butterflies.
And there I was, hand -in-hand
walking down lover’s lane.
No locks and nothing was clustered.
What pleasure we found there.

​I walked by the lake today.
​And my thoughts went wandering.
Over withered fields
and desolate streets.
But my thoughts of you
never changed their tints.
I’m so glad you walked with me.
​

Sometimes the day is a snare.
Coffin sellers wailing at the gates.
No stars.
No moon.
Other times a vibrant place.
Fingers like lotus
flowers unfolding around me.
And everything needs
to be treated tenderly.
Until the wake of dawn.
​

​Whenever in rains
​I remember it all.
​Old men alone
​reading the writings
​of the past.
​
​But surging with hot
blood ​I do not dwell.
​
​Before my eyes
​a world that springs up.
​The call of the dove
​And I begin to know
​what happiness is.

That I have a person
to read my poems.
That I have a time
to sing a song.
When I feel alone.
That I have a beauty
who can touch the earth.
Waiting for me.
These things alone
make every moment
of life, worth living.
​
​

​The first taste of
​morning coffee
on the lips ​is delightful.
​The first morning kiss
​from you ripples
​in a silent pond.
​These twin drakes
​of passion.
​Only one swells
​the heart and soul.

The first glimpse
of spring, not quite.
Still, in everything I touch
a chance to meet you again.
We can never go back.
Just gather new shoots
on the mountains here.
The sounds of the
moment we fell in love. ​