Yellows & Blacks

Asked if I was in love—I think I said
Rather generally, ‘yes I am’—But a meaning
Forestalling stalker tactics had crept out—
Making lies of any further flippantness.

They would have easily heard out loudly then
About this: (How I might love with pride) Just
As vibrant fields of yellows & blacks gracefully
Descended, playing loudly long triumphal chords.

Strangely timorous wings, proudly shivering—
With voice now fluttering along with Monarchs,
Nimbus clouds now strong and dark descend,
Whose pregnancies weighed the air with pressure.

More suddenly, ever stranger orders of nature,
Mischievous gods cracked the heavens open
Lending light and absurdity to that field—
Saturated and startling in yellow and black.

Asked if I was in love—I then forgot—
As wave on wave of light descended there—
And so I knew and saw that Day had come—
And Knew all further Days would be with Her.


let me see you once my love

let me see you once my love,
for five hours at least, to stand
while time unfolds you to me;
let me see you once my love
yourself make stay
to make us right;
let me see you once my love,
so we may know no day
that will not be our night;
let me see you once my love
draw figures on the sand
so I may forever stay
there in your light

My Sultana’s Jewel

I dreamt of my sultana’s jewel, with red
invasion of my schemes, and then she said
to me, “my strength, await our mutual doom
when time and space shall finally make our bed.”

My Love Did Not Speak With Me Today

Some days are colored mornings full of play,
And some there are that leave the soul in mire
For my love, who did not speak with me today.

Now while at work, anticipate display
That cause too brief of words that would inspire,
For days of colored mornings full of play.

And there are days of skill which will, while may
This love too many moments, that they tire
Of my love, who did not speak with me today.

Now happy days may necessarily stay
With mutual longing. Lights we leave with fire
To bring those colored mornings full of play.

But now I sit alone, along the bay
Where lapping waves come covering remnant pyre
Left from love, that did not speak to me today.

So leave me thoughts that weave and coax my lyre
And leave these words aloft. Obscure desire
For days of colored mornings full of play
For my love, who did not speak with me today.

Counting Cowries

Here on this shore
Where you are not
I should be counting cowries
How many I must pay
That air of various tastes
And vibrancies between
From jasmines to roses
And scents of salt.
They wait there, quietly
Accusing my inaction.
I smile my diffidence
These shells are ignorant
And cannot tell me that
You are not there
In jasmines and roses
And scents of salt.


I’d thought to boldly stop avoiding rain.
So I unclothed myself in open air
and then assumed to go in safely swimming
since you were there.

You, River! Showed yourself to me
too full from tears of far too many questions.
I watched you keenly, from a distance, keeping
safely from your shore.

But then you knew how you would overrun
to flood this plain. You knew, it is your cause
that it is you I had surrendered into
with sudden wetting.

Now each of one plus dozen moons have shone
eddies of light brush strokes on your surface
suggesting currents sweeping me along
gladly ever within you.

The Sound of Rain

The sound of rain on tin is like the bulls.
It is the rainy season here, and where
my beloved is, it rains often.
I wonder what she thinks her rain sounds like.
I wonder, does it rain on her as well?
For that is all we share now.