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

Departure

Glancing out the window at
The earliest shades of Autumn.
Leaves contemplating departure

From graying gnarled branches; a
Gradual decent to mist dampened soil.
A red tailed hawk swoops low; tilts,
A flash of sienna in its spread tail.

The hamster pauses then freezes;
still motionless tribble-like, as
I fill another Yixing cup with Oolong.

September 24, 2012