
open road mural
triggers wanderlust;
i stop to look.

open road mural
triggers wanderlust;
i stop to look.

from a speeding train,
i see a fresh-plowed field
in which nothing moves.

golden trumpet
lives up to its name
when sunrise strikes.



I saw the lips move, but no sound came out. The message could not cross from air to brain. With reddened face, next an attempted shout, but silence suggests words weren't true but feigned. You'll think me deaf, but I heard other sounds: a ticking clock, a fan, and distant horns. Maybe, barrier glass made unseen bounds? Perhaps, but what bars only sound that mourns? I know of nothing that would fit the bill, but start to suspect nothing stopped the scream from reaching me, but rather force of will did stick that voiceless face within my dream. But am I sure I'm having a nightmare? I can't say for sure that I'm even here.


two common trees,
seen from a distance,
merge to an ideal.

The flawless deep green melon rind
houses a pink, bland flesh.
The rind - pitted, yellowed, lumpy -
hides fruit: red, sweet, & fresh.
The stars are not afraid to appear like fireflies.
Stray birds — #48
By plucking her petals, you do not gather the beauty of the flower.
Stray birds — #154
The eyes are not proud of their sight but of their eyeglasses.
stray birds — #256
I carry in my world that flourishes the worlds that have failed.
stray birds — #121
Delusions of knowledge are like the fog of the morning.
stray birds — #14
CITATION: Tagore, Rabindranath (1916), Stray Birds, New York: McMillan, 92pp.
Available on Project Gutenberg at: https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6524