Five Mountains

"Inspired, each stroke of my brush shakes the five mountains.
The poem done, I laugh proudly over the hermit's land."
   – Li Po, from 'River Song'











Dreams in the frozen season are longer, keener. – Brodsky


Cafe across town late February to teach of Buddha.
The Branch woods across the street that charcoal hue
as if a wash across the canvas lit by streetlamps,
themselves probing ochre streaks across
to paint the window where I sit waiting with books;
music in the corner, a stage where nobody looks

as all the miles of this world have slowed down,
the slow motion dreams that skip and dance
by such ferocity across the inner cerebellum crown
such theater, by months, and screen sends silence,
we may or may not walk those candid grotesque woods
to find the second self would in winter be misunderstood.