Trapped on the island by typhoon. It's evening dark, though at high noon. The waves are wild and still rising. So, ferries won't be running soon. The few streets there are lie silent, but - seaside - the winds whip violent. We hide inside a bungalow, and hope it's fixed firmer than my tent. One 's always where it's most remote when they cancel all ferryboats: where there're too many thoughts to think, and few distractive antidotes.
Tiger, tiger, burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare seize the fire? And what shoulder and what art Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And, when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? and what dread feet? What the hammer? What the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? What dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears, And watered heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the lamb make thee? Tiger, tiger, burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
under dark clouds; yon hills at once bombarded with light- & rainbands.
branches hang strong
against the dense clusters
of yellow trumpets.
“turn left to go right”:
branches sweep around in arcs,
is the tree moving?
sitting on a rock, feet dangling in the stream, thwarting summer heat.
the bushy tree in the temple wall isn't so claustrophobic as I.
people sit in sand, and look to the water -- ignoring dark clouds.
from valley shadow, the sun-warmed mountain glows more brightly.
across the lake, two rainbows arch skyward: one, a faint echo.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 