Like Japanese iris,
she shines with raindrops in the sun.
A blossoming grace in silence.
A new butterfly in flight.

A star died in my eyes
A black hole in my iris
A light I thought I shined
Instead casts hazard alert signs
•
My horizon is lack lustered
The fall is an everlasting lost
I want to believe these eventful dreams
Are preparing me for the relative of death
Or maybe to rest on a point of no return
Such as my eyes looking too the past
As the iris collapses
•
These thoughts are micro
Yet weigh on me heavy
My eyes engulf aglow
Yet dream only sightly

I love watching Spring bloom in the reflection of your eyes.

A white flower
wearing an eyeglass,
her eyelash rolled
Like calla lily,
her bright beautiful
sciera looks glassy
like, brown iris and
chocolate pupil rouned,
Stood up
her face
Brighten the Android
phone is softly touching,
when Funda closed the
shop door, she turn
her face to me
and she said
Goodnight
Beautiful

Subtle

~for Sally~

there is no escaping it.

to write of subtle,

one must be blunt,

forthright,

direct,

write with no subtlety.

there is no way, impossible, to capture the fine single threads required
to weave a tapestry of bold and delicate intertwined, of depth and
surface, of a droplet of water shining outstanding in a sea of harsh
blather.

there is bold, there is pale. they can coexist, perhaps even
heighten each other.

but subtle is a delicacy, a single thread, a standard rarely achieved.

which is why this poem makes no pretense at subtlety.




Aug 21~22
2020