Space-- silent, serene, mysterious and majestic- covers all
and there is infinite peace in its emptiness
we should learn to be empty
for that which is full could receive no more--we should address

ourselves:  what is this fullness and surfeit
doing to us?
once emptied of all our desires and vanities-
all that follows  serves only to bless.

The song has ended
and faded into the silent night
it lives on forever
in the lovers' hearts--true love never takes flight

only resides to endear and charm
to rekindle desire--beyond the pale of words and time-
ah, my beloved,  be my ever-shining light
as we embrace and abide in the eternally sublime.

1
Roses are asleep
under a calm autumn sky
night breezes drift by

2

Under the ocean
a hidden world of its own
beauty beyond words

3

Under the lamp-post
a woman anxiously waits
it is past midnight

4

Cyclist in the night
riding across a steep hill
no one is in sight

5

City bars are closed
the waiters are rushing home
it is two a.m

Let your dreams be few
too many would confuse
even one or two
(though small and homely) would do--wisely choose.

Many have dreams-wild and foolish
which but dazzle for a while --- only
to sadly fade away---there's nothing left to cherish
but a trail of regret and misery.

When and how shall I be
'  wholly I'?
a dumb question

to me
to be whole
would be a cul-de-sac
a full-stop
a coda
a nightmare
as I won't be able then
to go anywhere
to grow
and would not even know
my real self-
I have been too used
to my not being 'whole'-
I delight in being what I am
in my not being complete.

Because I am not
'wholly I'
I would still be able
to flirt and play with life
pull its ears and retain
my innocence and incompleteness
dance and run with it
in mirth
and that makes
for joy
for freedom
for spontaneity
and real living.

Being 'whole'
then
would unmake me
and turn me into
what I desire not.

I don't want
to be a fake
of a human being
I want to be incomplete.

There's no perfect moon
no perfect sky
no perfect stars
no perfect rose
no perfect poem
no perfect beauty
no perfect happiness
no perfect love

for
what has become
loses the grandeur
of the coming-to-be.

Life should not be
a final summation
but an unfinished equation-
work-in-progress
that shall never be
a finished product-
that's where the wonder is--
the song still being sung
is more beautiful
and more desired
than when it has ended.

I don't want
to be the perfect I
the perfect man-
to be in that state
would make me inhuman.

You, whether a friend or not
if we should meet
just regard me
as a person incomplete.

The noon's greygolden meshes make
All night a veil,
The shorelamps in the sleeping lake
Laburnum tendrils trail.

The sly reeds whisper to the night
A name-- her name-
And all my soul is a delight,
A swoon of shame.