Her fingers plucked
the strings-
vibrating

all over
me

She struck
against
the hollow
wood

on her knee

Her bow
danced across
the
silvery strings
She breathed

in
and

out
and started

playing double time
for me

Laying back on the soft grass,
I whisper your song.
The clouds are fluffy and white,
the blue skies are peaceful and bright.
The picture of paradise.
You wouldn't know
that
someone is slowly dying
right there.
Where?
Under the tree.
But-
Yes,
That's me.

Bright yellow suns
with glowing white orbs
A splash of colors
on your white coat.
Pink blossoms bloom
out of rusted, old pots.

I seek, I rush to find
a sweet
from the bag of soft dreams
resting by your side.

Open your mouth,
let a chorus of words fly.
Is it Navajo? Korean?
Indian? Or Spanish?
Armenian? Or Swahili?
Amharic? Or Bengali?
We need to open our eyes
Spheres of cultures dance around us
Reach up and pluck one
from the sky,
search within,
for an expansion
of your mind.

I found her.
She's hiding.
She's in the halls
of the greats.
She's got the same spark
the same confident glint in her eye.
But where's that bright smile?
The skip in her walk?
The fizzy hair bands had shrunk
shrunk down
to two.
Two is better than one.
But she's alone,
without you.

Come back home

Korean.
Tall.
Confident.
Enthusiastic.
Sweet.
Humorous.
Intellige­nt.

Fizzy

hair bands
on each
wrist
Do you know this person?


-MISSING-

Creeping on me

was your dream

it wasn't my choice;

yet I willingly
agreed.