There were stories about frangipani blossoms
and monsoon rains and teatime and English gardens,
the smell of mandarin oranges being pealed.

These beautiful, poetic reminiscences fill my soul
just as the humidity wraps around me, now,
as frog croaks filling the moist night air.

Looking back we tend to forget . . .

Across the street
The heliotrope and roses meet.
Entwined they gather sweetly
Lovingly clinging in embrace.
Sigh.  I watch them.  I slow my pace.
If flowers can love as in this case,
Why cannot men of every race?

I just cannot see
Why you won't open to me?
Why put up that wall
When you know that I'm not tall?
Yet, though I am just small
Still, I can see it all
When I get a glimpse
into your wounded heart.

The heat of summer is heavy;
A spider has hung a dragline;
In it a lone leaf dangles and spins

Amidst the humid breeze.
A rattle and hum soon rise as insects  
Calls out, "Beware! Beware, as you fly!"

For a silky trap awaits the foolish
Or the absent-minded soul
Quickly caught unawares.

A chance encounter.

So precious and fleeting is this brush of one life against another
that we may never realize the impact it has on our life or theirs.  

The impression is, nonetheless, left.
A chance encounter,

How fulfilling it can be when it is brought full circle.

You ask why I do not come around, anymore.  Because
    the sun won't shine with the darkness in your eyes;
And, I love the warmth and the glow of daylight.  
    I wanted more of it.

All the while you kept blocking the light from our lives.  
    Perpetually, all was darkness,
Though, you refused to turn on the light,
    step into the brightness of day, I had to.

I pray that he is not lost to us;
He fell into a hole in his head.
Now, he cannot find himself.
How are we to proceed?

At first, his darkness is soft
And warm and of great comfort.
It comes sharp, dense, scary
In the recesses a cold blackness.

There are no doors, no windows
From which to escape that place.
Only a celestial hand can reach in,
Save him.