I wear an old shade of red.
My belly is a wrinkled
skin of fruit.
I am no longer a ripe peach,
not even a blossom.
That my daughter is.

If you cannot let go of your past, you won't be able to embrace the future. I wrote this one for a boy whom I used to like a lot.

May you live for another 70 years
like your grandmother
May you influence young people,
inspiring them to follow their dreams
May you help thousands of people,
making them happy
May you eat all those Indonesian food
you like most
May you see a sky with five billion stars with
someone you love (someone is not me)
like your friend who visited Greece
May you get wrinkled, inked and loved.

I will keep you in my heart.
Goodbye.

2018.12.19

When is too late?
Does the sun rise warm
on the face of the blind?
Do the deaf hear
the longing in a resolved chord?
Is a ravaged memory
consumed by the absence of thought?
A body ripens until
it frightens the young.
Wrinkled hands once
caressed alert skin
spreading ecstasy
in wide arcs.
Who owns these finite moments
immersed in the infinite?
Swept into the union
of the ocean
time has forever
lost what is tardy.