When early morning sunlight warms
The vibrant lakeside greenery,
All of those cave-like lakeside trails
turn psychedelic scenery.
The leaves become so translucent
Butterfly and bee silhouettes
Stretch out at distorted angles --
Beasts beyond being caught with nets.
Despite being sober and fresh
The mind reels or seeks to reset.
A culture is a vehicle
we use to move
through
this world.
And like all vehicles -
be it truck or bus -
it
has blindspots.
Everyone in a given
vehicle has the same
blindspots...
That's why we travel.
budding limbs:
vibrant growth unseen from
the city beyond.
"The ignorant speak, while the wise keep silent."
I read the words of Laozi.
But if Laozi knew the Way,
Why did he write those five thousand characters?
wildflowers sway
over the creek's cool water,
stirred by thermals.
I shall die, but
that is all that I shall do for Death.
I hear him leading his horse out of the stall;
I hear the clatter on the barn-floor.
He is in haste; he has business in Cuba,
business in the Balkans, many calls to make this morning.
But I will not hold the bridle
while he clinches the girth.
And he may mount by himself:
I will not give him a leg up.
Though he flick my shoulders with his whip,
I will not tell him which way the fox ran.
With his hoof on my breast, I will not tell him where
the black boy hides in the swamp.
I shall, die, but that is all that I shall do for Death;
I am not on his pay-roll.
I will not tell him the whereabout of my friends
nor of my enemies either.
Though he promise me much,
I will not map him the route to any man's door.
Am I a spy in the land of the living,
that I should deliver men to Death?
Brother, the password and the plans of our city
are safe with me; never through me Shall you be overcome.
swamphens strut
at water’s edge, and
i’m a farmboy again.
late afternoon sun
catches yellow bloom clusters:
the day’s last hurrah.
The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveller hastens toward the town,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;
The little waves, with their soft, white hands,
Efface the footprints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
The day returns, but nevermore
Returns the traveller to the shore,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.
lakeside leaves are
turning and dropping, but
no floaters remain.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 