The View

That distant
cityscape is a glimmering
open wound.
Trying to say
its beautiful,
words fall; water
from my eyes.

Walking down the path
tree-lined street lit
red in streetlight.
No cars just breeze
something like stillness, I
hear water streaming.
Crickets sing too.

Closing my eyes, but
an airplane hisses a
train hollers

That running water, how
beautiful a sound
is a sewer.
That ocean sound I dreamt
is a sea of traffic.

First dewdrop of the evening
is Moon’s.
Her tears
the only way she
can touch the trees.

Love offers itself to the offerer

In a valley sun
sets and grass illuminates, gesturing
crickets. Shyly they
set up music stands, the whole
orchestra, and
get in tune before stars come out.

One twinkle in dusk’s lonesome brow &
crickets forget
shyness, lost in complete admiration
& Love. The songs
go on all night; a wakeful moaning, an
absorption of offering.

By morning the stars’ tears
have collected on the grasses.
Parched crickets sip the dewdrops
remembering their bodies before
a long nap.

Portrait

Every morning
Ocean casts her prayer mat,
a field of grass.

She bows as stars
Merge into sunlight,
dewdrops on blades of grass.

Sun absorbs her prayer
picks up each droplet
of Ocean’s bowing body
and returns them.

Surface waters
blushing golden
with Sun’s light.