The Forest Blind

Blind children in the dark
Within the whispers of the forest
As foliage falls on a place without sun
Where the white eyes gaze

Down the path there is a clearing
Where the yellowing grass lays down to rest
Beneath the flowers still living
To provide, in their dying, sustenance for the deer

The lake sounds carry in the distance
Holding the jolting caw of migrating geese
Who linger for a moment, watched by forest deer,
As they move along the grain patches toward the edge

A Man with Crumbs

A tree top twig
   Beneath the empty sky
I look among
   The world’s connected strings
From a lofty view
   That's twenty stories high
It’s here I see
   The flutters filled with wings
This morning’s hush
   As Hudson’s sparkle comes
Around it flows
   With autumn’s remnant leaves
The pigeon sky
   Above the man with crumbs
As they flock around
   And eat his cake like thieves
His hands still move
   But nothing now is heard
He made a pledge
   With truth that sounds like lie

New York Harbor

Leaf and flower
   Have fallen in the wind
A petal gone
   The ocean never ends
The sea mist comes
   An unexpected guest
As even now
   The gray moon lingers west
What little air
   Has blown with pure scent
My father gone
   The door from which he went
As dust is dry
   It finds its life frontier
But loses track
   A line of song unclear
I stop to stare
   The dead moon’s life reflection
But quiet now
   I walk without direction

Plum Garden

For Boris and Miona
They find a garden lush with plum-air scents
As spring sun filters through the dew-dust leaves
And subtle sighs arise while fruit ferments,
For Eden enters Earth when minds conceive.
Within the garden deep an oak tree grows,
Preserving plum and fruit from sudden squalls
With roots that sink in soil where winds oppose,
To keep the flowers fresh as flurries fall.
Emerging from primordial chaos fair,
This Earth now holds the veins where plum wine flows:


Meandering above the asphalt streets,
The autumn moon lights vendor stalls;
From dawn to dusk the city beats
A song beyond Manhattan’s walls.
Across this land the Rocky Mountains
Conceal the trees and western sand,
But here another day begins,
Anxieties and troubles at hand.
The sky grows gray with tiny mist
That washes the building glass;
But clouds across the plains persist
To drizzle wet the newborn grass.
A clear breeze blows the fog away
To stretch it out like feathered sky;

Crow within the Yellow Leaves

Successive years of falling leaves, as gold-
Enameled flowers flitter out, around
The garden nook, with simple stories told
To fragrant crowds at play on dampened ground.
This time we sipped a cup of coffee cold
And spoke of speckled, thinning hair once brown;
A crow called out, as if a black-winged scold
That hits its mark and pulls us twisting down.
Through God we came from chaos to earth and skies,
And painted all that’s dark a color bright,
As child-like wonder shows through gleaming eyes


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