Hush
Look
Mud can talk.

The seduction of a feel,
Of a flower,
Of deep night.
When
I think of catching the spirit,
Of the
Night.
Over there
On the
Palm
Over the stairs.
If i could catch
That
Slump
Into a gaze.
Encryption
And
Put it in a
Vase…
Bottle…
Paper…

The touch, so deeply desirable,
The bloom is opened,
Especially in the kind dark.
Reaching
For the comfort of this living ghost,
That
Warms the evening.
My view is
Of the
Arching branch
Sheltering the walkway.
With
Graceful sway
It enlivens my spirit.
Few, perhaps only one
Feel
The sensuous art
Of phrase...
Of hand...
Thought convoyed by eyes only...

You are the smile on my lip
You are the verse on the paper
I panick not to loose your number
There will be no poetries anymore.

I don't know what to call You.
"Father," which should denote familiarity,
seems a foreign word to me.

I met you today
And you wrap me up
Like a warm scarf
As I take this walk
Late this night.

2 seconds after I left you
In the street
I began missing you