Pain stays permanent,
Permeating through time;
The pinch of loss,
Can never be sufficed.

Pain surges periodically,
Often high in tide,
Crashing on shores of sympathy;
Bund that gap,
With all your might,
These sensations erode,
Cutting in the shape of your soul;
Gorging away your sane.

Pain pangs often,
Reminding of the times gone,
But in that memory,
Find inspiration to go on!

Pain pacifies loss,
Whence you derive,
Your reasons to smile,
In memories so close...
Dormant relationships bloom,
An evergreen garden!

I feel the shrug of the passing winds,
That gather beyond my solemn place,
Where indifferent birds fly to and from,
With only lost dreams, real as her face.

The sea gulls— who fly in wanton
To the horizon, are a spirits
calling, are sea songs falling
To my mind they falter— as I
Have known such cozen to the sun
That falls each day nor do I see
It rising.  My world is weighted,
Under, pass the lining of the quick,
By the mounted cloud which hangs silver
Over the plated night. The owl,
Whose eyes of Janus tails, when wanes
The lids, tied to crescent holey
Whelm of malevolent moon,

Praise over me, with wooly wings,
Is silent as shadow.  I may strut or run
But they do come as the shadows will
With cahooting sun, and the blotting
Bald faced moon, chiaroscuro—
The days feign and heaven pales under
The wake of the luna sea.

       In darkest daylight
I shamble toward the flat horizon
Where the seabirds fly, till their ends,
I take two-faced my faulty comfort
As I see them, falter, falling, yet never
Do they touch the gloaming ground.

The soft rain is drumming with the brook
And the owl is moaning with the loon,
The early sun shines on the lake waters,
Each of these things distant — I am happy.

.
River gift, flowing upstream and down
Cresting with the bumpy waters tow,
Slick as an eel, you move and fro to play,
Warm in the gleaming sun that rides
With you each day,

                              you have shone, great
Knowledge of salmon, found the pearl
In the dark mussel, bend as even light
Must, piercing the waters of the under-
World, lording the fey, riparian borders,
Like a God.

Snow covers valley—
Solitary raven staining world,
Love has turned black.

My love is the seventh sense;
Before which there is no meaning.
My love is birth and death at once;
Would not die after dreaming.

My love is the light that dances on waves;
That spins the oceans, and foams its enclaves.
My love is the rushing of flocks on wing;
The voice in the heart of the forest that sings.

My love is the seventh sense;
Before which there is no meaning.
My love is the sky and whine of ocean;
She will not die after dreaming.

My love is the silence of a windless day;
Spring snows on top of the bare mountain.
She is the babble from the brooks;
And the air that steeps in secret fountains.

She rose to greet me,
Flowing hair, sparkle eyes spoke,
Poem before words.

She left in springtime,
White globes of daisies explode—
What is left of me.