I saw two eagles on the sky
in strength stirring
protean penetrating pure
dark tresses of the beloved
fashioning the bright scarves of wind.
I saw a karacal leap
dancing with air
lean grace
turning like a feather on the wind.
Lens of Mind
Tears drop as honey from a jug.
Leaves fall, and sun.
I said,
I did not say:
these chameleons are with me always.
Past's prism, future's mirror
with present's lens of mind form last light from dark eyes
different every time
what is there.
What is there? What message, knowledge,
yearning chasm-vast; regret
I am mistaken.
Every time the last light leaving
dark eyes
is the same
music fading from a road.
The fine fabric of distance cannot bear
it lessens and is gone.
without wind
sifting it this light is not
physics or philosophy.
I seek it like the well in the desert.
In silence.
more return to pomegraphics