Friday, April 18, 2014

A Poem for Chino

This Side

There is light. We neither see nor touch it.
In its empty clarities rests
what we touch and see.
I see with my fingertips
what my eyes touch:
                                 shadows, the world.
With shadows I draw worlds,
I scatter worlds with shadows.
I hear light on the other side.

— Octavio Paz

Monday, October 21, 2013

47 Years

(for Tata Chau)

It's been 47 years yet it is yesterday 
For her. A rose in bloom crushed. 
What is left, a stalk of thorny memories. 
She mourns her brother, still. 

I trace remnants of his presence.
A father departed before I arrived
as the quill scratches wandering thoughts 
(as he might have) 
in scattered strokes in each of my sketches.

October 21, 2013

Friday, July 05, 2013

Friday, April 26, 2013

upstart crow (or wandering mind)


It's the fog that belies the Spring day. I wake from strange dreams involving strangers and distant places, a manor, a castle, preparation for a feast, children. All things that are possibly as distant to my reality as one could get. It is my mind in wanderlust perhaps. It is the wanderer in me reconciling reality with the concept of what I desire perhaps.