"The sound of the stream is, after all, without a present, or a past." – Ching-An, from "On the Spot Where Shih-Chia Tzu Sits in Meditation"








In late afternoon
the drapery of rain
is carried away
for a few hours

Only the buds
of small flowers smile
purple at either
side of the mouth

Cardinal, kingfisher
the buffle headed ducks,
even a wood cock
hidden scurries and erupts

what is the world
without its spring sun?
bare brown beige
and an unholy hush

Here at the Savannah
a fresh spring
emerges from under
a formation rocks

Green clover rides
the trickles like an artist
does inspiration,
the painter does a sunset

Up on Monroe Street
the traffic rolls in tin
An airplane curves
across the sky in smoke

But a few yards in
under the waking savannah
a chortle of fresh birds
is where you are