18

A song is a song is a song

Until it is sung

Until it seeps into the deepest stratum of

Someone else’s song:

Thus you sing the song of earth and of moon

Thus you sing the song of rain and of crimson hibiscus

Thus you sing the song of an unnamed nugget lost in a mighty river

I am a nugget

I was born in an exploding sun

I carry the story of an eternal universe

I tumble down the stream

I pass through bare cliffs and dark canyons

I come down to the grassy meadow

As I touched the heart of a tiny blue flower

I see a lonely gazelle staring

I carry the story of an eternal universe

I tell my story to the tiny flower of the grass

A song is a song is a song until it is sung

I sing my song to the gazelle

Who you are

Gazelle or the flower

17

Driving home at dusk I saw three deers out in the evening sun on frozen snow. Spring is here but nope, of course, its not here. Waist-high-hills of snow is a little higher by now; spring is here they say

My dear wife, there is nothing much i can do other than taking plunge in the frozen river every evening, for its cold and empty at thirteen Grove. The other day Floss was there in a meeting; she bought the house on the river and, curiously enough, she is off FB. Anyway, today was cold but sunny and crisp; day is longer and I missed the evening ride to Hanawa or to the ways of heaven only you shall now. Its almost four in the morning; snowing lightly. I put the garbage and recycling bins out. Small town emptiness at this small hours of Tuesday is truly overwhelming. Down the road I can see a disheveled chevy slowly getting out of the hospital parking ..

The other day the sun was shining. When the sun sat, the moon was not there. The stars twinkled. The rain came. It was autumn and the maple leaves were kind-of-crimson. In the midst of pouring rain I heard the leaves fall. A parting. A murmur for the morrow.

When the eyes don't see and the heart does not murmur,  one must watch the mountain letting its pebbles go. The pebbles rush down the brook. The water dances. The pebbles woe. It's like Leonard Cohen lamenting and celebrating his age and his age-old-days and on the go.

16

for the lady 

wish to travel

in the sun, 

sand and gravel

here the sun 

short and dim

nights longish 

empty dream

cometh april 

thirteen grove

drab adagio 

pensive robe

15

when the mast was broken and the sail torn

when the sky was dark and the stars stolen

when the river was rough and the ocean alien

forever and forever 

through earth and heaven

you and I

14

i miss the smell of the incense that you wear

i rather shall not speak of the other incense

that i only can whisper

i miss the nightly fan that is always on

and the evening ride in the autumn moon

i miss the saree and the bangle that i never see

i miss the evening, fresh and cozy

ice wine goblet, pastry and posy

do i miss,

so you ask

no, i don't

for i enjoy

the joy of missing

too too much

13

night is long

longing winding

paltry dream

makes me scream

rueful days

evening haze

succor offers

not in coffers

so i turn unto thee

for i wish for the honey and bee

12

for six days and seven nights he made love with the wanton harlot

on the seventh day his body was weak and his knee broken

unto him, the harlot said, o' enkidu, your body is weak but heart wise

you ought not graze in the meadows and eat grass; you are a MAN

enkidu, the brave and the wise, sat at the harlots feet and begged,

take me there unto the temple of love wherefrom you cometh

so i write whatever i see see from my moving train

a piece of bread

goblet full of wine

a man at the feet of a woman