A Paper White Moon
In the long, dark night, on the threshold
of blossom time, the fragrant atmosphere
becomes heavy with lament
In one thought, your eyes outshine a galaxy,
I realize such brilliance has made me blind . . .
My competitive edge is this; the blade of my pen
and a paper white moon full of unwashed dreams
I plunge into the purple depths to find
the phantom lines between life and merciful release
I drift into the realm of rhyme and sleepless dreams
that numb my eyes to human passion and deceit
In the first hour, I rouse myself
from a worthless coma,
throw off the night's kimono
and ease myself in the onsen and embryonic steam . . .
The soft sounds of babbling jets, soothe the ear
like well read sonnets, caresses the soul and skin
afresh, like the sounds of summer rain
The steam drapes the curves of my shoulders
with a warm cradle, like a mother's arms...
I am weightless and content - behind my eyes
I compose murmuring lines with the ancient rhythms
of water drums.
Spring flowers - the buds burst elegant and content,
a moss covered path softens my steps,
the gown of dawn is sober, smooth and gracefully pink
Wild HoneyPress, 2001
