Tiger Riding for Beginners

Traveling Poet Philosopher & Occasional Wiseacre

looking around,
i see no valley floor, nor
the end of the world

pampas grass
ripples in a slight wind,
lulling me to sleep

moss grows on granite;
nature swallowing gravestones 
and erasing names

stretching overhead,
something opens deep inside,
and i feel alive

warmed in morning sun -
the butterfly slowly unfolds,
briefly helpless

through the bamboo
snowcaps catch the morning sun --
what bamboo?

bare rain trees
form a dome the eyes see,
yet isn't there

the squeaky wheels
of a laden bike cart 
attract all eyes

the preening egret
twists its head under wing;
its birdness wanes

the silence
of dull, stone walls
penetrates all