gleaming steel
plow blade turns the dirt, but
dirt taxes the blade
a weed pulled
in due time, beats one hundred
plucked too late
stalk stubble,
the haggard mourning face
of the field
mile high crazy quilt
viewed by climbing passengers,
brooding nature’s mood
when light is short,
but field days are marathon
harvest gloom
white space,
where readers’ eyes go to
rewrite stories
when thoughts cease,
senseless pictures form;
minds abhor stillness
Plato’s pupil knew:
“nature abhors a vacuum,”
if not much else
the fog wall,
flush with the land’s end,
invites guesses
endless dunes,
stretching far as eyes can see
yet never the same
birthing Buddha,
distant looming mountains
breed wisdom
glassy lake,
mirroring boat hulls,
a world below?
standing aside
as beam-totting porters
pass us on the trail
tea-house quarters
cozy and quaint lodging,
’til snoring starts
cool air in face,
trudging up — oblivious
to cloud-freed snowcap
glacier gone,
scoured trench, gouged in earth —
maybe next year
monkey overlook,
from sacred stupa to
the human warren
harsh silence,
lost beats steal word’s
authenticity
silent snows
seen through crossed muntins,
drifting eerily
fog resting on
Coconut Grove’s soil until
chased by dawn’s din
ridge rows,
in waning shades of gray
end in white void
creek burbles
hushed to unheard drips
from icicles
boot crunch
‘a cloudless night,’
he concluded
old coat of snow
nary a track in sight
beauty abandoned
snow blind
trudging and slogging
pure torture
crust of snow
over dry powder
bone cold
drifting flakes
add a wedge wall
to a farmhouse
Srinagar,
drifting on Dal Lake,
mirror of mountains
blossomed branch bobs,
twisting on wind as a bee
hovers, seeking sync
hill station hut
rain trounces the ground
lulling reveries
monkeys grooming
in a triangle, and I wonder
will they turn on 3?
from Shimla town
summer leaves hide the giant
orange overseer
Sacred Ganga,
Welcome to our city.
What gifts you’ll take.
Narrow warren,
lanes lined with bright-hued goods,
bangle blind and lost.
Cattle herd
roams the parched mudflat,
kicking up dust.
A golden bridge
visits each morning, and
exits silently.
Wood stackers
endlessly working
the burning ghats.
crowded skies,
circling raptors weave
invisible baskets.
little chipmunk,
screeching relentlessly,
stop! all are warned.
rat slinks away
as cat creeps near,
despite edge in size.
popsicle monkey,
crowd coos, “Cute copy-cat,”
idly stuffing faces.
Mumbai leopards?
Hollywood mountain lions?
cats seeking parts?
alpine lake,
depth a guarded secret,
mirroring mountain
ships sit
on your sandy bottom,
yet, you’re called “lake”
in sunlight
your glistening canvas,
a bowl of diamonds
winter ice cracks
with steel cable song,
sending shudders
barren pine
beside mud-rimmed lake,
heeding drought
outside? muggy;
from inside: gray skies look
like Viennese winter
cool mornings,
after a rainy night,
soothe the spirit
the guard shack,
topped by a wading pool
only I can see
rain song
absorbs harsh sounds,
hushing the city
trust old people
with umbrellas more than
the blue in the sky
