dense fog . . . I dream walk
my sense of I
in the darkness of womb, a life swims into my life
lotus leaf . . .
a water droplet rolls
the moon
thunderclap the darkening sky splits into liquid night
I fold in the rose petals . . .
mother's sari
in the wake of dawn
harvest songs sung
in childhood
summer moon a wave's white foam glazes the rock
the child-like joy
seeing a star streak
a new moon sky
weathered field — slowly coming to terms with my aborted child
harvesting grapes . . . the season slips through
her fingers
forest walk —
a spider's shadow
climbs the tree
wading through leaves . . . with each step
the thoughts
howling wind — an autumn note within the bamboo flute
trying to know me
deep within me
autumn day
winter loneliness: the sofa she vacates holds her shape
winter rain colder than ever
this bowl of rice
flies
even inside the temple:
issa
mountain bridge — I pass through
the clouds
desert sands . . . I enter the whole of nothingness
the suddenness
of scented breath
night jasmine
mango blossoms
a welcoming
silence
Indian dance recital: long plaited hair in step with her hips
taking flight —
a butterfly shrugs off
its shadow
between the birth and cry of my baby
my breath
slicing wind the skylark alone knows the pull
|