nature poetry

Farewell to Mystic Mountain

Fresh Wood (for Luo Xue)

quiet in the forests of night
watching with white eyes
alone in the darkness
waiting for the one
 
the pond was torn
in ripples that marked the shore
silent as the woods around it—
and the creak of the toads
 
it was day
the wings yielded movement
in the trees that came alive
and left us behind
 
flames once wore on us
every night as we walked home—
alone now they’ve withered
with memories made along the road
 
round and round
on winter grass we’re frozen

from the shore
where I can see it all
as it floats away
 
to some other land
where the sun continues to shine
for centuries
 
and treetops
sway in the wind
filling the grass
with wandering pollen
 
          *
 
worn out
like a flag flown
for many years
 
          *
 
alone here
where your lips once
had left a mark
 
          *
 
once
I looked up
at the stones
and there opened a path
 
into the night
lit by torchlight

together in time
time on a string—
friendship in notes
of what lovers bring
 
          *
 
storms and fires
eons of woods
grown over and lost
to sight in the blind
communion of one
 
          *
 
rust and battle—
armor left, foregone
on fields for others
to follow this road
 
          *
 
alone
in the constant quest
of folly foregone
in others’ arms
 
          *
 
one day crowned
anew without a plan—
maps torn and paper burned,

rays melt
into the blue light
of another heaven
 
        *
 
wind washed
water melts anew
on the blue horizon
 
        *
 
birds
of another day
have joined
for morning prayers
 
        *
 
looking east
the pages turn
to the wind
where all the blind
begin to see
 
        *
 
jigsaw night
among the red and blue—
once more I'm
back together again
 
        *
 
sometimes dead as sin—
reborn for another day
 

Along the stone-tipped buildings, glass reflects
The water ripples flowing near, where home’s
A memory uncorked and lost, complex
As photos seen in every road one roams.
Now winter’s worn the road some fifteen years,
The covered clouds are broken by the sun
And wind-whipped rain blows on till pathways clear
With breath blown in from cold where there is none.
Above looms fog that wafts up from the shrubs
Where herons gather in a game of chance
Along a path where holy men proceed to scrub
The frozen customs free in wartime dance.

the lost art
of statues and colonnades
sketched in time
 
         Ꚛ
 
stars slumber
as the sea water
that rings my feet
 
         Ꚛ
 
light mixed in shade
between the leaves
that line my feet
 
         Ꚛ
 
centuries old
as leaves whisper
on New England stone
 
         Ꚛ
 
another day
she wanders on
without a name

A tree top twig
   Beneath the empty sky
I look among
   The world’s connected strings
From a lofty view
   That's twenty stories high
It’s here I see
   The flutters filled with wings
 
This morning’s hush
   As Hudson’s sparkle comes
Around it flows
   With autumn’s remnant leaves
The pigeon sky
   Above the man with crumbs
As they flock around
   And eat his cake like thieves
 
His hands still move
   But nothing now is heard
He made a pledge
   With truth that sounds like lie