Page XIX

Dance in the broken glass
of your lost loves
until your feet find their way home

It has only been days since I've seen you
But in my heart spring and summer
have come and gone, and now
it's autumn, and the leaves of love
are changing their color

The sooner the pitcher breaks the sooner
the water gets back to its source.
Don't hold back those tears that
belong running down your face.

the lazy summer river -
        we look for the deepest spot
to wade across

the fields and mountains alone are not enough -
      I hope to meet someone
along this path

when your mind is
         that afternoon butterfly
then each visited flower
         is home

midnight dewdrop -
           the Milky Way above
reflected there

The cowboys ride proud and tall
into Death City.
When the shoot out starts
there's no cover under the blazing sun.

You make such a fuss
with this new boy, Jamie,
showing him off from bar to bar
Be careful: Love's flame
in his eyes
ignites someone else's heart

a good man's heart is
made of gold they say it
can be broken a thousand times
and still be all of one piece
and go on loving and shine
uncorrupted by time and sorrow

Hypocrisy's daughter has no sense of shame
she'll go down on any man who's game
Then preach to him of his lustful sins
but not before she's let him in

This vintage port took thirty years
          to age to perfection.
But lucky you, Octavio, you did it
          in only eighteen.

In the broken mirror, a shattered face

summer lays its hands upon me and cures me of my feverish
                           nostalgia for spring

Day of the Dead -
do the dead remember us
the way we remember them?

Day of the Dead -
photos arranged, candles lit
his small studio crowded
with spirit-visitors

Day of the Dead -
when they come back
what do they think
of our world, now?

even the capricious gods
with all their charms and powers
do not have enough arms
to hold you back from me

In the morning pond, no trace
      of last night's splendid moon.
In his heart, no trace of me, either.

to Basho:

only butterflies in this summer field of dreams

You are King Solomon's mines
and all of his treasures.
If you want to go home
and find your lost treasure
get out the maps of the heart
and start walking in that direction.

You're the hunter, I'm the quarry.
You're the arrow, I'm the moving target.
I'm already yours and
there you go, missing the point.

out of the starting gate race the horses -
         thunderclouds billow in the sky

At every kind word you say
a candle is lit in the other world.
If you don't believe me, start telling lies
and see how much darkness comes into your heart.

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