a small boat
one with the river
needs no boatman

i am walking, made of sand
wind blows and sand shifts
sand enters from all directions
and leaves
no grain stays for long
my shape shifts

walking in the wind
made of sand, yet
i am.

swim through life as a duck
swims through the river
experiencing every
current every
bank every
overhanging branch every
glistening pebble every
rippling reflection of the sunrise

swim through life as a duck
swims through the river
experiencing every current
and not getting wet

like a pool of clear water
in the breeze rippling
sparkling with joy;

and in silence, reflecting
you show me
my own self.

you are grasping
scratching at the surface
as it slips away
from you. stop!
let go
let the angels carry you home

mask

then one moment, you realize
the mask you put on every day
won’t come off
the mask has become your face.
what is your reality?

- x - x - x -

but you still breathe the same air
wake up to the same sunshine

it’s always the little things
that count

little unimportant things
a particular smile,
the convenience of
soundless communication,
trusting blindly.

little unimportant things
your fingertips want to do,
just out of habit.

but your hand is missing.

shards of glass
glisten, the colours
glow, sparkle

ragged edges bleed shinily
is it the colour stain, pain? or
glinting sunlit joy?

more beauty, shattered, stained
more than a dull blank clear sheet,
of glass unharmed. unarmed. framed.

happiness from sorrow
beauty from pain
life from death
are people too, like window-panes?

an old one. but i live my life by this.

a single drop
reflected in the water below
a point of imagined truth

coalesces
tentative, tense, then tumescent
yet still unreal until

it bursts upon the world in a moment of fleeting beauty

and is gone
to the wonderment
of the eternal seas.

11 february 1996

spring and sea
spark and cinder
droplet and splash
sapling dead tree

every line has
a beginning
and an end

except those
some magical nights
that circle.

the full moon.