Mayflower, where art thou?
The snow-flawed days are done
Rains fix their resolutions
On the coming green to testify

That spring is as bright
As the homeland hearth
The gluttonies from which
All life sprung, galaxies wide

As the Everlasting Monday of growing things
Mayflower, Mayflower, where art thou?
The Spring she cannot be muzzled
Her superior pages of Nature force

Through the long wait, all patience
The roses know no maladies
Only the lovebeds of mornings after
That litter Daybreak with a white light
The snow-flawed days are done.

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Open-mouthed we cried for a
Baby-God, for a golden child
To marry the sunsets with the
Lands from which we came!

We cried for our Manifest-love
To be born into a better world
With short-comings and impoverished
We sought to be lifted by

An unknown dream, deeply familiar
And elusive, we gilded the fires
Of creation in our minds until
Pregnancy awoke us from our slumber

And that was it, the greatest day
At least, that is the part we most remember
The Times are Tidy when we feel lucky
To be a Hero for a day to someone.



There is no map of trees Just as
There is no History of lifetimes
We are ‘free’ to experience here
The French window ajar
Another restless rainy day!
Let the silver dew rise
Let the white mists roll
Let them say what they will –
There is no height like Eyes
No soulfulness like, pure kindness
We are sleepers some of us
Should we forget to sleep through
The years, of mornings and afternoons
There is no replay button, no reset
Only the silence after dreaming.

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We were Sculptors when we lived
When we were alive, we Perceived
Beauty palpable as air, striving as water
Mutable were our art-forms
We loved as if there were no Tomorrow
Weighty, with visions of wisdom
In our Body, we gave ourselves to Nature
Totally, hands moving like Priests
In flesh, in bronze, in wood, in stone
Embroidering our love for the World
Again and again, as if that was all that mattered
Making music, from points of Eden
Writing pristine alphabets of significant
Hellos and goodbyes, all meeting each other
This hid our extreme fragility following
The new moon’s curves, down to her epiphanies
That all Diminish, or goes insane attempting
To reach Divinity, eyes the color of dreams.

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It was Not a heart beating
On the night-shift, for it always does that
It was not the chill of memory
Not the blood in the ears
Of Fate, it was the nativity
Of time confounded by
How inept the hours felt
In the Silver factory of the void
There were indefatigable facts
That drove in the company
Of self-judgement, that seemed
Extraordinarily bright in the quiet
Night, and my heart circled
The Shadows before a rising sun.

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Love is damn stubborn
In such a Cruel World
I feel the essential landscape
Has always been you
The tongues of Saints fell quiet
In your lap, and in my heart
Some grandiose prosperity
Shined, permanently
Because of you and because
Somehow, I reached you
And while damned ghosts flare
I don’t think of them, I only
Count myself lucky every day
And I would follow you anywhere
To Taiwan, or to a Buddhist temple
Giving up all accidents, for miracles.