summer of reed-boats when
dreams meander
in the puddle streams

Unbeknownst where
parts of whose strings die,
what song
does that violin string?

running figures past the
empty braille notes
in deep recess

what song does that soul string?

pirate song of the drunken ship,
as hale as the winds alive,
but parts of me are'nt!

now string a song for the jammed soul

dying in bits.

So time to and move on and goodbye.
Like the strangers we were
in all the time we sojourn together.

unemotional be
for all it is a wistless life,
aeon in aeon:
meetings and partings

****** be the vogue,
mallet-smash the mirrors
them in the halls of
spirited dreams

barefooted walk  on those shards then
red be they tinged, **** if they do
for there is a pleasure in this pain

always like this, rivers that rise
high up in the hills, swelling in the rain
die dry in the heartless dunes

and a piper sounds out the songs
caravans on horizon
that them streams carried
here into their graves

for deep somewhere
subterranean buried
lies a clothed casket
broken heart, sunken dream

so let us move on. you, on,
and I, to my dance
to each their own.

Shall I mourn you like the valley dyed red
in the evening fires of the late summer;
Or distant caves lost to the ravines of time
parched the dragons and dreamtimes
mourned of long the artist lover;
Or dead the lumber in the wood
felled, mourning, chipped by the pecker
now in the season who tells how much
the rain and how much the tears?
Dry the gorge cut deep by the river of longing.
Oh the aeons lost when the door
to thy chamber was locked:
decorated and adored but so so distant;
Now I bare my chest to the skies
and dare wet this lump that lies beating
only for you only for you
that torrents be eviscerated
mourning your absence
like all the mountains at dawn
all the stars in the deep
all the dimples in the rumble river
wind in the valley bend;
Death, I want not, for I can't bear
remembering how I lost you another time
and life vain now I know how I lost you
ghost have I become alive
mourning for you, oh pragya paramita!
pragya paramita!

Is it the gulf of the night
that the wheezing winds
chafe at this separation?

now all events are memories
streaming in with the moonlight

walks past the frost-bitten lake
the snow, the snow, that
late winter night

I know there is a heaven
I felt its beat on my lips
pressed to your *****
arms wrapped in silken hair

there was no tomorrow.
a lone fall in the distant wood
all the trapping of time

I see you hair spread across the sky
on pensive nights
overcast in agony

there is no chocolate in the morning shop
no river bending
to measure your dimples out
no swan in our reed ridden lakes
unending summer now

and I long for the distant noon bell
song of the autumn shells
or the pall of looming life
wrapped in layers of the night
streaming past the crescent lights

I have no words to say
I will have no words to say
what words do I say?

one word is all needed.
and it's a verb.

not not a name for something.

artesian
deep within us -
you and me

in there where there is no
you and me

and no other word matters

say it to choking throats
say it to the evening birds
say it to the withering flowers
say it to the corners at night

no other word matters.

it's a verb
when we've found it
there's just
no need to say it.

it's a non-local field
collapsed everywhere

Tell me, friend,

is there life after death?
or death after life?

yes, it bothers me:

endless existence

interminable.

is life a gateway to death?

or death a doorway to life?

you must know, for you have
risen from the dead.

They led me to a chamber where
I heard you would be found,
and I returned shuddering and
baulking from the hall of mirrors

I hear your whispers walking with me
in the valley of flowers as in
the mirage-riddled path to the oasis

But fragrant pathways lead nowhere,
empty the nights of adoration

Dry of the sap of zest, barks that uphold
the canopies of our lives under the stars
And we hang paper flowers from them

where? when my call echoes in the winds,
you came and sat by my side, your warmth
entered in my soul. When I cast my blinds,
I find the world a hall of mirrors