Rounded willow
Like an elephant's trunk
roots
my lonely feet.
...
So what becomes of you, my love,
when mayhem blooms
to the swollen zenith?
...
One star lit night on the terrace
off a star lit sky
my soul caught
the gold
...
Olden sediments, from the first mornings,
Baked into hues, green n blue,
O'er yonder, by the parent sun,
Have bloomed again.
...
Oh, thou woman of dark flesh
of swaying hips
and dancing feet
thou tempt me
...
Of The Tree That Loved A Seagull
Rounded willow
Like an elephant's trunk
roots
my lonely feet.
My sunburnt back
empty;
for my own wood
i own nothing
but memories
in layered cork.
Years past
a seagull died
smothered
in my fingers.
And sunsets past
another
promised
to come back.
I stand
listening
the night's noise
whistling
the wind's tune
waiting.