Lock down lifting

Under the street lights, spiders mend their webs

Today a tree was felled and now darkness dwells

The trilling crickets must hurry, for man begins the old flite in a flurry

They must not forget in whose hand the world is held

No one has caught sight of the end, so the old order is still upheld

No illness draws close the curtains and the world’s bend is yet uncertain

The people strain and fend for themselvesĀ  and dare to learn a lesson

Good girl

Like melting ice cream
Vanilla sunlight, dripping joy
A street dog with no name
A history of kindness
Kneading strangers with her fore-paws
Where'd she go?

New arrivals, the child 
called her "Marie biscuit", "chicken leg piece"
pampered and greeted with film dialogue
Then one day, gone before she was ever named
No one sees,  a dog with no name

Her allies, a rotund white hobbler, brown paranoia
Sickly dogs, pushed further down the street
Under cars; while black twins and a broken leash
run free
I can no longer see the dog with no name


In the shape of shadow

In the light from windows

With the motionless trees

On the afternoons without wind

I only imagine the dusty, dry grass

And memory fills in the hills and monsoon

I remember my people, not friends,

Barefoot rivals on the rich red clay

In between the stone path shrubs

They smell of toddy

But we share a spirit, a history

Though from different sides

They will not forget that cruel division

Why did you take it? My language,

Misery, meaning, death

Like theirs, all in a village, for melennia

Better to be humble in your lands

Than fighting elsewhere

Days of Quarantine

I prayed for the silence of a cat

In the days when the bats returned

After what time I cannot say

Many of us are visitors to our homeland

When the downpours murmured to drizzle

The roads held their breath, waited

Birds in leisure scatter, dogs stilled

On the warm tar that came after

The world stopped, but still hungered.

Kite string

Kite string
lightening sun
leading the way
the winds have come
by the cracked window with freshly washed hair
I see the yard, mother, clearing the clothes line
leafy faces, on well water
out over the fields and flower beds
spring rain on the harvest
dripping down
planet dusk
small talk
after droplet burials
in the flowing stream

Dark eye

I dreamt we walked the paddy fields

Amidst the shells of yellow cars

Silver inscriptions from their authors

Glinting but dulling, with the dipping sun

I break from my travel companions

Pushing forward, caring not to look back

The rainwater has washed the path away

I skip and leap, through I know

My shoes are gone

Down by the wooden grain store

Under its cold wooden rafters, I felt

Trapped on a pillar, the breeze pushing

The only thing holding me down

Your shaded eyes

Ash is the purest white

Cast your hand above the flame

you’ll feel it fade

the warmth seeps away, your fingers cold

the cinders ebb, as the bonfire cools

the night is slow to melt, yet you will it to stay

where no one sees, it is permitted

the forest branches complete their journey

and you may mourn them too

you will remember, how the flame cuts right through

Softly folded

A meteor shower, frozen

asleep on the empty road

I gauge the feeling on my arm, how cold

the pulse of the night wind

give me a homeland

this ancient crooked tree

no one replaces you

give me a homeland

my lips are chilled