As summer enters this land of rivers and lakes,
    I find myself idle in my thatched hut.
Friendly waves that wash the shores
    are sent only by the gentle breeze.
This body’s coolness is also a debt
    we owe to our great king.

We pulled a rose in summer time
        Beside True Lover’s Gate,
Our lips sent up so sweet a chime,
        That twilight lingered late;

Now look how is the year grown old!—
        How leafless hedge and tree,—
’Tis said that even love grows cold,
        So here is rosemary.

Escort
           your lady friend
Gather
           your kids. This
Is an family friendly
Event;
           of a life time.
Arrive early
           to secure good seating.
Up front is where you want to be.
Pack a picnic
           basket with cold sandwiches, coleslaw and iced
tea. Save
room for the barbecue

that will come later.
Lay out on your blanket.
Pose
for the photograph.
Grin.

Capture
personal mementos.
Indicators that you were here.
Pieces of a torn shirt.
A finger.
An ear.

           Put
it in a jar.
Seal
it.
           Pack
it in your pocket.

The rain               Let the summer rain that rains
Falls                      A flood upon the battered stones
                              Make grow the dry banana trees
and a city             Permit the serpent in the garden
is                           To build a nest on the withered stalk

drowned. But    Allow the bird to presage death
                              And let a universe be sung
                              A door swung open on the rain

in the garden     The serpent may become a tree
grows                   The rainbow burn an only time
                              A portent bird fly free:
                              o rain a flood unhemmed by time

a tree.                  Dry rains the rain on me my days
                              No longer me but what becomes

As the falling rain
trickles among the stones
memories come bubbling out.
It’s as if the rain
had pierced my temples.
Streaming
streaming chaotically
come memories:
the reedy voice
of the servant
telling me tales
of ghosts.
They sat beside me
the ghosts
and the bed creaked
that purple-dark afternoon
when I learned you were leaving forever,
a gleaming pebble
from constant rubbing
becomes a comet.
Rain is falling
falling
and memories keep flooding by
they show me a senseless
world
a voracious
world—abyss
ambush
whirlwind
spur
but I keep loving it
because I do
because of my five senses
because of my amazement
because every morning,
because forever, I have loved it
without knowing why.