The tree, laughing green
Breath of wind, music—
she shakes, dances light and shadows.
Her fingers—branch and branch,
holding the white pillars of the sky.
Night fever, dreams of grass and blue….
Still (a prose poem)
In the city of dream and desire, the wind is caught in her yellow hair. How blue, the slant of night and shadows. Memory plays music in her veins. She dances over gardens, temples, drifts above the streets, no mind holding her beyond the broken sky.