paper cutout, like magnolia petals glued in glass windows,
within my mind, drizzle never stops
line by line of quiet songs.
On the streets, red lanterns
Rain soaks our hair and shoulders
floods our shoes
A river splits into creeks
and then fuses to
Fog crawls down the stairs, clinging to pine branches
And gently touches your roof.
From the roof of the restaurant, I
see the sun rest its head on the shoulder of your hill
followed by a crescent
Dusk is an ancient
you recite over
and over, but still as sweet as
I fall into the night, drifting
Like a log on the summer river,
Searching for your soul.
You, drizzle tiptoeing over the weeds
the path to the bush and the hills
flowers by flowers,
pebbles by pebbles
The mud walls and the ancient
house of bees and a lonely butterfly
infinite misty mountains along our way
to find nights,
faded stars, soft mist
the wind revealing the curtain.
The light from the broken window that
exposes your purple lips.
Before your song
fades into the fog
I fall into the night, drifting.
And like a seagull along the coast in
I seek your face
on the horizon untouched.
But you the drizzle tiptoeing over weeds.
When I am the hill and you are the thorny grass and campanulas
Grow and become wild!
But I am a river
waiting for you to become a canoe.
Perhaps, time will displace longing
Or we will unite once more
to throw pebbles in the creek
or gather the dew from
the morning grass.