Thursday, February 11, 2010

Recent Mornings

early color

wild mustard sprinkles green-hued yellow

on hillsides

under a sun stunned speechless

in a wintered sky…

on the arm of the brown

leathered chair, an aqua cup,

congealed instant coffee

on the outer lip…


The deep pull and draw

of the center to itself—

rain drops and incense.


The acacia waits,

holding energies inward,

listening for spring.


I didn’t know Cid Corman

but his lines carry a voice still

discernable—rain falls, I hear its drops

1958, in a Kyoto garden


Under early lit skies,

walking shadowed streets

silently listening

to pink streaked whispers

pass by.


Not knowing the signal,

I watch breezes push past

each branch

and be gone—so much grace

so early in a day.

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