Golden Age

What do you call that Far East Asian ancient sailboat?

The one that’s always amber-orange and silhouetted, multiple masts

Sailing slowly but deliberately to anywhere but here

Help me because I can’t think

What, with all the noise in my head, contemplating your silence

Your confident cowardice

What do you call it

I want to hitch a ride to anywhere but here

Treasure?

No — what do you call it?

Single Torch

I took all the light in lieu
A select vessel
And with these, vanished to a sunnier place on high

I didn’t ask

Though it still pains me that no one put up a fight

There is more East now than ever before

Here, the Sunflowers turn their faces skyward
Earth and stars seem everywhere

The May-blooming Magnolia disappeared with me, too

Gracious, though
I left a single torch and White Tulips
For my shadow, who remains there, sometimes

No Othering

We must sit alone through This
No one has our back

Not forsaking sunlight then
Nor the sturdiness of these vintage legs

Doors behind us closed, by intent
Facing East, where will our colors lead us

What mystery does the morning hold
What certainty does twilight promise

Launch

A resounding “Atta Girl!”
He proclaimed today
Looking East from the mountains
He saw I’d be okay

In his Rocky Mountain drawl
He quothed from afar
Calling out to let me know
He saw a still rock star

Original Thought Credit: “So What” A song by Pink

Always East

Who now is thirsty for tomorrow?
I am! I am!

While my immersion in the moment allowed the universe to gift me with one Delighted poet

Happy for him whilst pushing through my pain

I am in love with now’s sorrow

Shall I claim it again?
I am thirsty for tomorrow!

Brave the Sun

Were you here
If you dared

To be beside
Me

As We
Careened too fast

Straightaway
Down some side street

I have traveled
Many times

And you’ve not

Would you
Summon courage

Brave the Sun
Look at me

And find yourself

Glad to notice
Remnants of
My morning coffee

Lingering, glistening
Upon upturned corners

Of my lips?

Stripes

We share Little in common
The Monk and Me
Soft, furtive early risers
Though grounded, I, facing West,
Facing East, He
And dining together, I linger
Dashes, He
Little Green Space we share, we

Some Saturday

We’ll sit together, child
Should God give us time
To ask the Eastern light,
“Where have you been all these hours?”
To watch the Western sky
Blush on its behalf
We’ll struggle no more, child
Please God, give us time
With the why of why not
About the words we can’t use
‘less they begin and end
With the loveliest shade of love

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