Tiger Riding for Beginners

Traveling Poet Philosopher & Occasional Wiseacre

at the bottom,
i feel my legs work;
at the top, i see

barren trees
reveal the flooded land
to my distant eye

sunlit white temple
reflects in pond water
in cooler hues

a face in a tree;
my mind turns all into one:
tree-man not man-tree

saffron-clad men
wash the Bahubali’s feet;
its eyes forward

a grasshopper 
lands on dappled granite;
becomes a statue

in a tree hollow,
snails multiply as far
as the eye can see

butterfly,
at work on a flower.
a bird circles

clouds creep 
as the river glides.
nothing is rushed

the desert runs
all the way to the lakeshore,
where it - surely - ends?