*
why not marvel
at the thin long beak
of the firecrest
.
or cry tears realizing
such songs
came from a thumb
size chest
.
he fit the mouth
of my cat
so little it was this
bundle of joy
.
covering the sky
among trees
with his wings
soft in my palm now
.
.
.
*
I press hard
most of the times
my whole
life to go beyond
.
to detach myself
from disappointment
transcending
into the essence
.
.
.
*
awakening to
having no
choice that
to have a job
that holds me
between the earth
and the sky
*
the volume of the sky
above me and the land
stretching from my feet
.
.
.
.
.
.
*
I am a drawing compass
one feet pointed the soft
one bent on a dance to
go from here to there to
close the circles to jump
out to run free today
.
.
.
.
*
there is that voice inside
that opens our eyes to
.
a secret mirror reflecting
.
our deepest nature to
our absolute beauty
.
.
.
*
I’m at loss
describing beauty
a godly attribute
.
words aligned as pearls
.
to become a necklace
and I can’t find
the thread
.
.
.
.
*
the days I must
teach
I wake up
before birds do
I get off
in darkness
with darkness I return
stars shine
over me their smiles
.
.
Frozen Pond
.
.
*
we are here
softly abandoned
glaring at the shadow of
an airplane on the ground
one of those luminous day
where every detail is out
for count and thanksgiving
following a time dark as
the night upon which we
both struggled with
eyes wide open to
no avail in fear
.
.
.
This poem appears in the first volume of the “California Notebooks”.
.
3.
just as bunny rabbits
at dusk poems show up
and while you stand
with your mouth open or
an enchanted smile
they rush away
.
.
.
After Wallace Stevens poem Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
.
4.
at times when I plant
basil such a delicate plant
I’ve to be careful to synchronize
my breath while I gently press
the dirt around as when
words sprout on paper
.
.
.
.
After Wallace Stevens poem Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
.
12.
Cloud have covered the whole
day slowing down my rhythm
I walk as barefoot on carpet
placing words carefully
dozing off a bit hanging
poetic moments behind my eyes
.
.
.
.
After Wallace Stevens poem Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird.
.
*
I load on beauty
between silences
those of plants and
lack of rain
these shivering
when reefers come
are not gossip or loud
news they are stanzas
needing spaces
in between needing
solid whites an invisible
bench to sit on
.
.
.
This poem is part of the collection California Notebooks 02
*
tonight
the moon is full
emptied from a thousand
engagements I lay in hot
water maybe illuminated
from the sky the silence
repose approaching
hidden from light
an upside down world
a somersault and a wriggle to
find myself wondering star under
inside some lights I turn off
before the thoughts – then the eyes
slightly vibrating
weightless in the space
I found within
.
.
.
.
*
I’ve been sleeping
light lately as
a restless person
going in and out
from one room
into another mirrors
everywhere as I
searched for my
breath the metronome
of my temporary
existence
.
.
.
,
