Red crabs are flowering on beach.
The red crabs are little hibiscuses
On rained tree, in boyhood’s eyes
When it was dawn to pick flowers.
The old sea hemmed all our night.
A fisherman dreamed big in a fish
To marry off eldest of daughters.
Daughter had eyes like a big fish,
Like shy goddess wedding Shiva
Whom we drown in red hibiscus.
And a sea rises like girl’s bosom
In boy’s dream ,soft like hibiscus.
Poets mix up craggy crustaceans,
With dreamy softness of hibiscus.
(following Wallace Stevens’ poem Thinking of a Relation between images of Metaphors)
A blue sky was part of composition
Like a large tarpaulin against wind.
Dark coal patches were fresh warm
As temple bells rang up river steps.
A breeze blew away time’s patches,
The rules in history of composition.
Composition is ever changing haze
As wind whirls from patch to patch.
Wonder where the erased rest,
What rests they have in peace,
Until you shall meet your own.
Wave erases moss on sea rock.
There is erasure when sea ebbs.
For now ,there is rest in peace.
A sea wave erases sand houses
And children’s feet inside them.
Words cry out briefly, under a sun
On coconuts , in daily combustion,
In leafy flanks till leaves turn gray
And men sit under them watching
The sun go up behind the airplane
Crawling the clouds like centipede.
The plane reaches behind building
And may have crawled into its hole.
We still lack image for daily poem,
Save daily crow busy on dead fish.
After a window’s glass shattered,
We would stutter on white roses.
The petals were strewn on earth,
And no one took them for roses.
A dew enriched them with drops
That looked a night’s fallen tears.
The petals lie sprinkled like stars,
Scattered in new morning wind
From sky garden by its gardener,
Who shatters our glass as petals.
Bodies love trembling lake
And breathe its rarefied air.
A sun is high strung in hills
Like a daily sun back home,
Near the horizon of our sea,
When high strung in its sky.
We are breathless in beauty.
We are some bodies in lake.
Coffee round is circular print,
After the sea that hurls vapor
And port the particles of coal.
27 dew point is a mere detail
Of some more vapor on glass
And coffee rounds of history.
The sea is a detail on the sky.
Coffee round is time’s detail
On table’s space with imprint
Like walker on the sea shore.
Coal dust coalesces in detail
Of sea’s vapor by mid- noon.