Masala

The masala to her lavender
Natural and smoky,
Lavender, the ghost seeing herb,
Sweet and innocent that
has seen turmoil and yet is contented.
Masala weighted with Indian sauces.

Red and brown to the
light and death of lavender.
Masala of orange marigolds and burning wood
Lavender that mingles,
masala that lurks under the other flavors
while she laughs,he smiles
sideways; the most of his mirth
she has ever witnessed.

Masala and lavender on the blue bedspread,
extended on the floor.
Together, they are the gold cloth
in the Ganges. The laugh and the smile,
The sweet death after the rich life.
Rich as masala.

The Birches

The quiet lull of winter
Demure grays, muted blues and greens
The skeletal trees naked
without their summer vestments
stand stoic on the side of the mountain

But the birches have a desperate,
misplaced hope in the dead.
Their leaves hold fast through
snow and wind and frigid
air. They dangle lifelessly,
and are full of cracking veins
dry without warmth and water.

The creaking echoes throughout the woods when
the wind frisks by, a sound of winter. But the birch
rattle its teeth and illuminates porcelain bark
like the eyes of a skull, guarding the way into the ancient earth.

The Defined Line

Everything else besides this
is blurred. The line that
separates something from
more is smudged;not defined.
Smoke that drifts...

Between the smallest, an
electron, or smaller, there
is a line, and then there
is nothing.

Add a particle of the tiniest
object to a void, and it is
no longer a void. The physics
have changed, and there are forces
at play that turn the universe.
But add the biggest to infinity, and
nothing shifts at all.

Woods

What wonderful city or
Strip of fence could ever
Measure even with the
Power and energy behind
That scraggly bark? What concrete stretch
Through Park crawl can
Compare to the slender
Tendrils that frame the sky
And ultimate jigsaw? And!
What person as profound
And withstanding can a
Wood or stand of trees
Be? Dappled light is
Sifted through the
Branches and poured
Upon the leaves as
Fallen angels lie under
And sleep in death
And watch their friends
Beautiful and clinging.

Wavelength, Existence, and Love

The simplest lies under the complicated,
Andy Goldsworthy to Feinman,
It is everywhere, hidden.
The waves, the gentle sloping of a sine curve,
Throbbing with knowledge and potent desire,
The energy to get things done.
It’s in the light, the sound.
How we see, how we listen,
And how we can be assured of our own existence,
in the mirror and at the forum. (you have to hold your hand up to see that it is there)
The simplest sign, forming the most complicated relationships (I love you for your voice, your eyes, and the shadows under your brow. )
I love how the light finds you.
The sine curve lies under the entwined.

Old Boats

Out upon the fields of water

beyond the seas of grass,

the dried - out husks of once

fine boats bob with every speedy

p

a

s

s

.

Their wakes have long since sunk

beneath gleaming skin,

Cormorants rest on the rusted

hulls and watch the teeming

c

h

a

n

n

e

l

.

Looking Up...

Delicate clouds hang,

Suspended animation,

Shadows on concrete