Saturday, April 26, 2014

Sandman's whim

in a dream was a choice
a voice of water or of dry

and sands were a still
and constant ocean
of whose waves I
couldn't climb and
depths I would not seek

stoic boulders were
islands in the underground
sea within whose waters
I glimpsed the paths
too distant for my feet

in the choice of water
I was shown a shadowed past

for evening torrents in
clouded gray green winds
cried against a casa blanca
stuccoed with western age
and companion clothesline

but west met east in
Buddhist inflections of
the scene, of the storm,
of the path or choice
laid in terrestrial terms

in the choice of dry
I was cast upon the sands

yet these desert grains
must have seen the rains
for moist were they when
swept away and leveled and
ordered for prayers said

in the murky skies of
the given choice from
this wet or that dry,
I reflected in waking duties
to think, to know little choice
there is between saturated
deserts and thirsty seas




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