Unknown reader, be glad that I have opened the door and let out

the dust of my verse for you to see an age after the words first found form on the screen, or

perhaps I have let in your imagination so, turning, you can see a single almond

blossom, pink amongst its pale russet leaves, to tempt your words out

Unknown traveller, on this day, stay, venture out

and, before they fade,...

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As I write, each line reaches for memories

lost, fallen beyond the edge of the world:

kamarupa dwelling in infinity, fading

when my lines do not find them

and my words fail passion and desire.

Eons, lost pasts. Which of them

could dream my frail dream of this

verse? Which, thrown

across the fabric of time, could make

nothing everything?

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I almost regret to write this poem

for fear it may vanish

flicker away like Evan's flame

scared of the voices

that murmurs that carry its name

across the wind

whispers of That

but it only lives for a little

hiding in plain sight

waiting to be noticed

so it may slip away

one more time

only to be invited back

by the warm, orange glow

of the everlas...

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there once was a boy

good-hearted and innocent

worried not about the 

flecks of mud

clinging to his toes

thinking not on the

stinging scrapes

kissing his knees

worried not

save for the dwindling daylight

that brings an end

if only temporary

to his fun

there was once a man

chased by the sun

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1
A story about
                an old poet
    and his cottage

2
A dream of an old mariner
                lost in Wales
    adrift on his words

3
A memory of
                a young boy
    on his maiden voyage

4
A memory of
                innocence
    lost at sea

5
A line on a chart
                between a girl
    and loneliness

6
A communion
               ...

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