From my plane's window,
thirty thousand feet from ground,
the clouds resemble the floor
of a winter desert,
bleached white and sterilized
by the glaring sun.

Entering my driveway
tonight, I see the harvest
moon perching on my pine
tree top and winter enters
my heart like a song.

Last night
I listened to the river
of your sorrow and
kissed
the fragments
from your heartbreak
until our distance
was once again
evaporated by the
white heat of our
merging souls
and we exploded
into sweet
Oblivion.

Opening your card,
I feel
spring blowing into my heart.
I smell
fragrance from our gentle pond.
I see
splendor of Buddha’s flower.
Only one complaint—
My hands get so busy
picking up this ecstatic sprinkle
of hearts, moons and stars…
Making sure
that I collect
every single piece of love.
from you..

You tell me not to touch you anymore,
yet you open for me the gates into your inner sorrow
and let me taste the saltiness of your tears
as I watch you cry like a scared child.
You say we can't love each other any longer,
yet you cradle my head with your warmth and kindness,
and listen to me talking about the history of my torments
way into the wee hours of the morning.
Don't you see, my beloved,
that we have found new ways to share our beings
and a new music to make love?
We make love when you yield to me completely,
and let me see your despair and helplessness.
We make love when I toss aside my male armor of toughness
to show you what has been devouring my spirit
and eating my soul.
We make love even when I have no words to comfort you;
when all I can do is to caress you with my silence
and ride with you into the darkness of the night.
We make love when I overcome my fear of rejection
and tell you about my many lovers;
but you absorb all these like a sentient sea,
even as you are feeling the sting.
Yes, my beloved, we make love even as the god
of Reason has banned our love words and
send our passion to the far corner of the cosmos.
For the Sun of our love refuses to go down
and we'll always find new ways to be together.
Our love is shining brighter,
in fact, it is the only thing that remains in this
crisp blue sky of our joined universe,
now that the clouds of passion are blown away....

This autumn morning
I am a city hermit.
Leaving my watch at home,
I stroll down the streets of Manhattan
with tourist eyes,
walking,
without trying to get anywhere,
entering crowds
without losing my silence or solitude,
feasting my eyes on Fall colors
while others are busy getting to work.
And then, I stop,
for no other reason than to pick up
a little red leaf
to LISTEN
to what it has to tell me.

Opening my window
I see the old tree of my backyard
BURST
into flames of autumn passion.
My dear tree,
I guess you are not too old
for that!