I see a canopy of trees.
Wind-rolled like undulating seas.
A strange green scene from my balcony.
Seems like such a vast expanse
of trees tossed, locked in a dance.
From sidewalk, they’re of stalwart stance.
But from here they are an ocean to me.
Green, the mountain meadow
White, the wall of fog
Lakes of trapped glacial runoff —
aqua gemstones in dim light
Lines of sheep crisscross
the part lines of trail
that segment the pasture
in Cubist form
Curfew is on again,
“How do you survive with the roads closed?”
“We remember from years ago. There are ways.”
Such a beautiful place
trapped in a cycle of human ugliness
Barren gray mountains —
more than verdant pastures —
echo the Kashmiri struggle
CH-47 Chinook at the War Remnants Museum; Taken in December of 2015 in Saigon
UH-1 “Huey” atop the Independence Palace
Mumbai, Taken in July of 2018
Post offices, like libraries, aren’t as lively as they once were. So it’s like a ride in a time machine to see the past grandiosity of these institutions.
Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City), Taken in December of 2015.
Humanity, it does perplex
much more than old T-Rex.
Man without his pointy stick
is but a high-grade lunatic
who thinks himself Odin’s son,
but sees a mouse and takes to run.
Drawing himself at the feet of gods,
yet terrified of nature’s odds.
Achieving the inconceivable,
so at odds as to be unbelievable —
at once arrogant and trepid.
Begging waters to be tepid,
our radiated splendor is too scant
to warm a thimble for an ant.
One can never love what one fears
for the test of all one holds dear
isn’t found at an ideal distance
but in the most trying instants.
