Seeping through the shadowland

The soft sigh of the willows
Seep through the shadowland
Where weeping ferrymen
Steer their canoes through morning dew.
Wild ducks, with sea salted wings,
Migrate through dawn
Shedding golden leaves like syrup fingers
Attaching their palms to the ground.
Cuts in the night sky deepen and
Bleed honey onto the horizon
Herding nightbirds and dreaming children
Back home.

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The coming of Light

Gray and mute.
There is no cadence in the wind,
As if numbed by the winter forest.
There is a stench of sorrow
Shrouding all safe exits.
Even the tide is holding its breath.
Then, a blossoming of light,
Soft violet and blush,
Splitting the ocean in a glittering trail
Of rose gold and silver.
The echoing cry of seabirds,
And feathers shivering
In the eddies of the wind.

Monsoon Sunrise

This is what I woke up to at 5.30 A.M today. And I mean that quite literally because the whole outward facing wall in my bedroom is made up of glass. I love when the rice paddies get completely flooded with water so that they can work as a mirror for the rising sun.
A balm for the soul. 💖☀️💖😊

The sum of our loveless days

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The morning air has been
whipped into frost to mend the
Barrenness of broken paths,
Sunned to death by the sum of
Our loveless days.
Reaching branches, sketched by
Dawn, break black and rise out of that
White and gray sea
Where farmers gather rivers
into veins to thin out
Our sorrows.