Into our dreams

At the break of day
The wandering soul returns
And sinks into our dreams
Filling life with invulnerable


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


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.

A Sense of Expectation


The morning air is laced with coriander.
Thick white fog creeps up my bare arms,
The wet cold licks make me shiver
Despite the spring heat.
Crows whine on the rooftops,
Shedding black feathers as they scavenge
For breakfast.
There is a sense of expectation in the air,
As if the fog has veiled something,
A truth that is waiting to show itself
As soon as the remains of winter lift.