
DAILY PHOTO: Pakka Pul, Lucknow
2



Throw the blue ball above the little twigs of the tree-tops,
And cast the yellow ball straight at the buzzing stars.
All our life is a flinging of colored balls
to impossible distances.
And in the end what have we?
A tired arm -- a tip-tilted nose.
Ah! Well! Give me the purple one.
Wouldn't it be a fine thing if I could make it stick
On top of the Methodist steeple?

pink blossom drops
in still morning air
beside a quiet lake.



narrow channel,
waving reeds on each side,
boat glides blindly through.

spherical blooms,
arrayed like planets,
bees zip through.


Jacarandas bloom:
thousands of miles from home,
but no less purple.

gusting Spring winds:
can the hunkered crow
take to flight?