Spring
           
Broken cobwebs stream in the sun, mark
temperament of the wind.
Blackbirds rise from a silver landscape.

“You must kneel,” said the Buddhist nun.
She struck the bells before each
of three shrines
chanted in southwestern Chinese.
The incense sparked.

A new world has begun.
Its pounding beacon quickens my heart.

*             *             *

Rain strings echoes of night.
Regurgitated sunlight flows in veins
within naked brown bark,
suddenly bursts
into pink blossoms.

The liquid universe expands.
Its inhabitant discovers dream.

*             *             *

Eagles' wings brush the wind.
The wind brushes the eagles' shadows
off newly green tree tops.

The river's sun scales
weave from past to future.

I watch the black and white screen
as you deliver a power kick
to the sonic probe.
Your silent laughter ripples
through the moonscape
of my belly.