There are times when even a moment
of looking backwards
rustles the spirit to a barren tree -
the branches trimmed by storms
blowing vaguely
in the background of a nostalgic mind
It is no good to reflect on pieces -
or to envy an old day
The tangerine of a new dawn rises
over the edge of soft horizons
as moment by moment I lift
into the full blow of blossoming
To be specific, my eyes are caverns
waiting to be filled with oceans,
orange trees, the clear milk of a coconut
My lips kiss small children and mountains
and the white hair of the aged
wisping their fragile hold with longing
There is inexactitude in my desires,
A plum pout, baffled laughter broods
Love revolts cover the countryside of my body
Long veins lead on in streetlights and shadows
My relection through windows gentle and blur
The moon hovers her moods
My hair blows like an acrobat with long legs
beating the wind as the wind beats
my eyes to tears - or to joy,
it is eventually all the same-
my body sending bulletins and warnings
to keep me in the game