Tiger Riding for Beginners

Traveling Poet Philosopher & Occasional Wiseacre

in winter,
frangipanis stand bare,
bracketing the shrine

the crunchy snow
of a cold winter's eve --
tomorrow's gray slush

two street puppies:
one with laser-like focus,
one oblivious

sun-warmed rooftop,
clouds down in the valley --
i breathe in bright heights

the sun sets
as we drift down the river,
past grand temples

a charnel house
of sculpted anatomy 
amid the ruins

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

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

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

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