Day lingers
in swaying willow leaves
Summer breathes
her last breaths as she falls
for dry, wooded breezes, Her
work is done & she naps
along with the other seasons.

Her last sun sets & the trees
offer fruits and leaves
to her magnificence.

The bay waters,
the willow leaves
golden as she breathes
her final setting sun breeze.

Light mist
between my eye and the
white rose

Open the window

There is breath to behold

Piercing sky, I
am the tail
of wind

Walking on a mountain
path each
passing moment as lost
as any other, in all time

Desert wind
Mountain air
this now,
the culmination
of every breath

Ripples whisper a line
where sky and water
Moon has taken its stance
among an army of stars–
silhouette of mountains
like a woman’s shoulders
exposed by midnight’s moon.
Mountain limbs cradle
still water. No
wind just night
heavily expanding
to water’s depth.

Stars in all directions
Mountains rising, falling

May you taste moments
as you taste tea:
        Deep with mind-
        ful reverence.
May you sip pristine
clarity, profound depth, and
expansive sensuality in
every breath

May traces of steam never
go unnoticed

Upon recognizing beauty:
tears and
there is nothing beautiful
about beauty.
Nothing amazing
about amazement.

Rain petals
in my empty, pearl cup.
Tired steam pleading
for another steep.

Nothing meditative
about meditation.

City train
rapid out of station
is an outgoing tide. A
rolling wave of horns
and the wave comes bounding back in.
People depart like sea foam
searching grains of sand for
connections. And then
the tide goes out again

Soft squint through sol-
itude. Awakening to sun breathing
gently on lavender leaves, petals.

Wider gaze sees
glistening in willow leaves, so
soft a song. Taking breath
subtle as if sipping
flute sounds.

Fog swirls, steam sings

Words pass

Dusk is
shimmering willow leaves
seen by full belly eyes
Listening as birds
bid flowers and bees goodnight
through barefoot soles tingling
with day’s activity.

I can hear nothing
but summertime
laying in the sky
kissing birds’ wings with
rich, golden light, whose lengthy shadow
captures the finch’s modest wingspan
on dry grasses. It’s difficult
to forget miracles
on an evening like this

Fog stalks the city, loitering
outside it’s reaches on the tips
of ocean’s limbs.

Crouches on the highlands
around the bay and
as the sun goes down
it pounces
on an unsuspecting twilight,
begins its evening feast.

All sky can do
is watch.
Fog naps and stretches
past the moon and
over the hills.


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