“is this a dream?”
the girl asks
the shadow on the hill.
“i’ve swallowed a stone
as big as the world
and now i don’t know what to do.”

the shadow turns
and it turns so much that
it is now in the light
and has a face after all.

“i don’t understand,” the girl says
“are you human or are you not?”
“i don’t know,” says the shadow.
“are you dreaming or are you not?”

Whistle sounds, alarm beeps
Battle drums, my heart beats
Rising sun, crowing ****
It is here, riddle me

Silent bath, floating thoughts
Towel dry, connected dots
Tucked in shirt, shiny shoes
One quick prayer, banished blues

Speeding cars, crowded trains
Changing lights, fast paced lanes
Blaring horns, jamming doors
Quiet rides, bone-face walks

Smell the air, raise your chin
**** in chair, eye on screen
A sip of coffee and you know you'll win
Welcome to Monday, you can get through

.
Musical brush strokes paint
               the pink honey moon
               full and bright ;

the melody wafts lightly
               with a sensual scent
               of Jasmine fleur

Lonely hearts sip the sky’s
               lambent elixir’s gentle persuasion
from separately dispersed novas

the perennial blossom of the perpetual tide ..,                                       .
               merely pined moonlight

Immersing wholly in wistful reflection
               alight on wellspring emerald pond

Verily unspoken words cavort
               like musical rivulets spiraling flow
into the crystalline echo

Luna’s haloed heavenly sighs ,
               emanation bestrewn
               shimmering through dark nebula

like shooting stars shattered
               by the weight
               of their darkest radiance,
echoes upon the tide-less mirror pond

               the nimbus of moonlight
               imbuing all the ways I want you . . .


wild is the wind ...© 6.17.2015

You are no longer
a child
innocent or forgiven.

Slower now,
dreams have taken flight
with butterflies
and *****
thrown beyond your reach.
No longer child-bright,
you stand in court
where age
grows upon the wall
and eats the air.

Your shadow lingers
frightened at the door
unconvinced
then bounds away
to chase a dream.

i only feel alive in the subway.
it is the only place
(speeding, busy, noisy, beautiful in all its glory)
i feel some tinge of hope -
hopes that somehow
we could forget all that had happened
when we fell in love as most people do.
perhaps,
in some station, on any line,
you would happen to walk inside the train
and sit across me
and then we could fall in love again
the way strangers on trains do
fleeting, but at least painless.

It was already awkward, taking you
up the dubious muddy mountain, with
thoughts, unbeknownst of their occurrences.
All the more cliffhanging at the edges,
of the next moment, like a word expected
or not but not spoken, left alone in the mind.

But the lake and the wind, provided the lure,
to stay calm and composed and intermittently,
shut up and stare at the nothingness that the wind,
the reflections and the darkness offered. In the gaps,
between those nothingnesses, words place-held
the thoughts and bouts of past, present and future.

When you slipped, I pulled you by your hand,
harder than the pain stilling threshold.
My other hand carefully place-holding,
in the shape of your lower back, so that
just in case my pull became insufficient,
I wouldn't hesitate to prevent you from dipping
your clothes and slippers in the little mountain mud.