it is autumn here
where warm rain falls
instead of bright hokkaido leaves
i do not prefer one mystery to the other
as both hold equal measure

this evening
miles out at sea
ribbons of lightning shred
beneath the ribs of a thunderhead

within the hour
the storm had tiptoed off the horizon
all those around me
distracted by more mundane things
were none the wiser


but let me ask you this


when was the last time beauty
stopped you in your tracks
laughed at your silly deeds and demands?

when was the last time beauty
took in her gentle hands
and shook you all to pieces?

in the mango tree
across the street

a prattle of parrots
most evenings meet

to chew the fat
and the mango sweet

with a secret cue
they screech away

then circle back
as if to say

this was the best
part of your day

there have always been
great stretches

of silence
eventually

the arrival
and departure

of possibilities
seep slowly in

something
that glows

into focus
steady

and strong enough
gently forming

and holding its pose
for a moment

or two
constantly repeating

the same message

yes
here is the thought

yes
here are the words

in the little
of the morning

red flags
are already raised

the sounding wind moves
through the trees

unsettling
loose leaves

the horizon slides darker
stitched black

with lightning
bruised blue

with pummels
of thunder

first drops blink
on the dry ground

haloing
in the sand

all this
just before

the world
shrieks

and sighs

hovering
between two languages

light’s decay
must choose

its words
carefully

growling
in the distance

dark plumes
ruffle

the color
of the sea

out       side         in         in         side        out

when fear shakes
the breath from our lungs

when poison measures
too much

in the blood
how do we

return to center?
how do we

renew beauty?

i do not believe
in ghosts

but i am cordial to them nonetheless

i do not believe
in god

but from time to time i wonder how she is doing

i do not believe
in heaven

but i am curious as to what might be on the other side of this door

i do not believe
in hell

but just in case i mind my manners

i do not believe
in the beatles

well actually i do and they are definitely better than the rolling stones

the rains
have returned

as have the parrots
that now riot down

these evening streets
this morning

a hummingbird
ash grey

and the size
of child’s thumb

floated
between the flowerless branches

of a tree
              slowly

things have found
their way back

into focus
into some semblance

of routine
and order

but small cracks
remain

open invitations
for grief

to come
galloping back

                          did you really think you would be rid of me so easily?
                                                          that this would last only a moment?
        who do you think it has been filling your dreams with shadows?