Saturday, July 06, 2013



I long for your tenderness under my feet
your sweltering heat
your full monsoon
your red earth so rich in pigment
your nights of full moon
under the jasmine 
as I stand beneath the catalpa -

it is winter here
the tree is bare
mossy black bark
lean, dry branches like veins on grandma's hands
long, thin pods with all tiny seeds spent
falling softly onto the grass
I see limbs, headless torsos 

soon, spring it will be
I will only see
the lush green on the sprouting leaves
softness in the flowers
and the tree once again beaming with life
I look up
and see the oak titmouse
peeping through her nest
as though to assure.

March 29, 2013