If I had chased you down
a leafy lane of fall…
I listen to the ballads of my blue mind
and think of you.
You are in the taste of blotted lipstick
on the lip crests of my morning.
You are the swift stroke and new razor
greeting the rough-hewn stubble of my face.
You are every drop of wet
in the shower of memory.
Your eyes are moors.
Your hands are angels.
Your hair is Autumn.
Your lips are frosting.
…like the theatre
and dancer’s passion
I passed through your land and wish to return.
I glanced at your face and my home I’ll now spurn.
I gazed in your eyes and your will I must learn.
Everyday is a Journey
and the journey itself is home.
~ Matsuo Batso
Late into the night your image appears
slowly, like Cassiopeia, to grow
in little specs of pure light
to challenge darkness and danger.
In full brightness you dance in my vision,
billowing swan grey with filmy mist…
The trees are blue, blue is orange
red and white
See me here in your midst
In front of you alone holding on
to your sight…