Maybe in a blue moon, ducks fly west
and turn into silver swans with diamond dust
shimmering on the backs of their wings.
A couple of hours with a hot cup of chai,
staring into its milky brown face
as its warmth and flavor slowly,
slowly,
slowly recedes
and fades into the darkening day...
makes a man lonely, but a woman content.
Twice the egress makes itself known
to lofty heads and hearts
feeling light as an august wisp of cloud;
my heart is heavy as I gaze
upon the sky full of bright colors--
shirts, mostly, and striped socks--
the memories of childhoods I no longer wish to spend,
of youths I no longer desire to embrace
and kiss gently on foreheads, eyelashes and lips.
I am the rain, now, low upon the forest old.
Mist settling in the evergreen leaves, a hundred thousand
sparkling jewels gone by noon.
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