Quietly before the rains,
the breezes tremble:
moist, warm, eager.
Ever falling raindrops,
a look of silence,
the sound of the wind.
Scattered clouds above,
dancing amidst the blue,
conjuring sun.
Yesterday: wet palm leaves
bowing to the applause
of raindrops.
Whenever you speak to me:
I am the sugar cube,
you are the rain.
I lie in my bed,
dreaming of yesterday --
then you stir.
The rich, creamy fog
blowing in like a dream
envelops even my sighs.
Tapping eaves full of snow --
my muffled surprise!
So cold, the struggle.
When I unfold your picture,
my blood and my heart:
not regular, not now.
See the red-green frog
tasting mosquitoes?
Hasn't found his favorite yet.
As I listen to Chopin
my heart unfolds --
I even feel the honeybees.
The mother bares her breast.
The crying babe.
The silence.
When I read your letter,
the clock's hands
like two bearded dervishes.
Comes the evening
of this hopeless longing,
only the moon, the sky so red.
My hair lies about me
in tattered heaps.
Such grief.
I see my friend across the room.
My hands wave wildly,
and paint the picture of hello.
When mystics gather round
the fire is lit
before the logs are brought.
Coffee skin; eyes, chocolate --
a dollop of cream
between the lips.
Gossamer skirts
that trail in the breeze...
attendant ghosts.
A giant dipped his hand in the sun,
leaving a white thumbprint
between the stars.
A silver fish leaps;
a grey cat watches...
and nothing more.
The birds in lazy, looping circles.
The clouds have gone.
Not a sound.
The wet sand remembers
where my feet go,
but easily forgets.
Inhale the salt air...
one of those times
you taste with your nose.
Beneath the pale of mid-day,
birds are weaving
but forget their thread.
The night, the moon lonely;
a still, reflective silence,
the waves murmuring below.
Trees upthrust from the soil
reach for the sun
and do not look back.
A conference among the clouds,
the flash of argument;
tears of reconciliation.
Blurred images of speed,
plummeting, racing --
a small, quiet splash.
The heat! like a blanket
I simply can't remove.
I stick to the bed.
The falling rain:
how unorchestrated in its sound,
how symphonous.
Only a thousand stars tonight;
the lights of the city
consumed the rest.
The swift river flowing past;
a motionless fish
is swimming fiercely.
