The path is laid and sometimes with turn
I moved too with intent of a bloom
I shuffled the earth below my feet
because I could hear the murmur of breeze
...
I must have decided
to write a poem
to share how life feels right now
then intrigued by nature
...
My first poem was not written
only felt like golden words from wise people
changed history inscribed on first page of magazine
...
this morning
was it mist or hill path
I am secluded
with dream
...
stooping little,
a little longer
in garden with a squirrel
my childhood stories were half true
...
the dark clouds
above my home
differs
in the shape of things
...
rippling water
as if the breeze
in the full mast
there is life which
...