waves roll over with a soft crashing white noise that splays out into a sizzle as foamy water expands flatly over hot sand until the sizzle is washed out by the next wet crash and then more sizzle and then more crash sizzle & crash crash & sizzle
a butterfly lands;
unmoved by wind or leaf sway,
but point a camera…
the black sand bay
under rainy gray clouds:
boats rock anxiously
As in Hokusai’s Great Wave,
I watch waves roll over,
before a volcanic cone.
Though these waves are
small & close,
they are perfectly rounded.
And though the distant volcano
looms large over the shore waves,
it has perfect symmetry.
I feel the roundness
&
simultaneous devastating power
of both elements at once.
waves crashing
on a rain-darkened shore
lull me to sleep,
as pelted boatmen
tug their boats inland
I’m a traveler —
attached only to the place
tethered to my now.
That’s the only place
that exists in any real sense.
The past has no reality
in the present - not really.
It’s a ghost,
a dim and fuzzy figment.
Only thorns of the moment
can prick me.
Past disasters hold no sway,
&
future calamities are acts
of imagination.
the stone monkeys
at the temple entrance seem
less than inviting
cornstalk beetle
bigger around than the stalk:
bad at hide-n-seek
Tiger Riding for Beginners 