Waking very early, my young son calls me to his room because he’s seen “… a deer-fly on the land-rover”. There is no land-rover: was this a dream? “No”, he says, “…over there on the radiator”. There is no deer-fly. I put on the lights and search the room. No fly. Sensei wakes, joins us and tells how they, on … Continue reading
. blown away a ballet of grebe on wind-swept pond .
. shepherding the notes of a flute just the wind .
. quick-silver runs on the wave crest – the moon crashes onto the beach . where once my hairline now tumble white whiskers . stealing silver creeping out – behind a cloud moon shadows fall .
with the dawn fading as all that burns bright dims – just childhood memories . brightly twinkling stars constellations in grasses tread softly through heaven . in grasses I left long may you burn firefly a wasteland beacon .
in the mirror held frog’s silvered reflection – still in the otherworld . surrounded by waves pondering – so profoundly even the mud hears . soundly – frog stamps on ripples – the universe his seal of fate