Vanishing point

Pearls of laughter, precious and soft
The laundry hanging, rhododendrons of peach and purple
Photos of them together next to a giraffe
Arranged themselves in her mind
While she walks on the beach
with no vanishing point
Where children are playing,
Two are chasing the gulls
and laughing
They will not be at the tea ceremony
dainty mountain of gestures and formalities they want no part
One day the memory will rise
And remember one own’s happiness
Like a child waking up
Her eyes looking at her mother
Her mother smiling at her

She turns around and walks back
The children and the birds are gone
The sands are changing colors
Someone waves from a distance
She continues her walk on the beach
With no vanishing point.

Remembrance

Lift the veil of early hours
Look at the mirror
to see what you want
You see not what you need
You have to remember the instructions
which key, which book to open
The best songs once lodged in loneliness
rising with the first light
You are not a star that fell from the sky
But a stone picked from a dry riverbed
You are experiencing difficulty of change, fragmentation
13 dishes from the blackbirds to feed the masses
the song birds are gone, problems remained
You return to the room
sit next to someone in a lotus position
hearts beat in silence.

note: I finished reading Circe by Madeline Miller. Entertaining,flowing prose.

Uncertainty

Remembering certain moments of elation of the afternoon
And not the whole idle expansion of the day
We walk towards the fountain expecting a cooling mist
It’s windy, we laugh as our hair and faces get wet
The changing detachment and tone in the photographs
Overhead a falcon practices its dives,
Hiding a new flying patterns and surprises
The day ends and we go our separate ways
Not knowing if there is a new day.

remembering

“Run and be free. 

Look both ways 

before crossing the street”.

My instincts 

but sometimes I forget.

I’m so absorbed

with Jack Kerouac’s On the Road

or when I’m in the middle

of a thousand projects

and I’m running

through “a maze

of twisting little passages”. 

Image

It’s not all these things.

I have changed 

since the cherry blossoms.

When I see any flower

my memory of you returns.