Village in Tibet

Still
The most fixed of hearts
Vision-filled
Blinded not
Having drifted into the paths
Of many
Too many
Oncoming realities

Sometimes
The most skilled oracle
Caution-filled
Gifted so
Cannot shapeshift the wills
Of we
Predestined we
Hope artists

A Single Piece of Silver

With a curious morose
They look at you 
As if seeing a long-faded flower
They take pains to not stare
Lest you see pity in their eyes

With a melancholy kindness
They are polite
As if you are fragile
They gently do not linger
Lest their affection break your brittle bones 

Glass Gold Poets

You’ll be frozen in time
And if the past may serve
As an indication
I’ll be hurled forward, upward
With lightning’s speed

I at ninety-something years 
And you at something less
(Though an old soul nonetheless)
Staring at my golden scraps
Through your monocle glass

What words are we, then
What sounds, what sights
What wrongs did we choose to correct 
What hands did we not fail to hold
What love, of only this, I’m sure

Cat Call

I dreamed last night a calico cat
Scampered up to me
And my big, drooling, happy dog
Of a life!
Was it you?

If so, I badly want to say your name,
But won’t,

So, cat…

Why your lame leg
Why’d you pay no mind 
To the hindered, big, back foot of you
What do you wish I’d leave behind
And pay no mind to, too?