Just when a cry could explode
And turn away sleep at corner,
Milky laughter behind eyelids
Seems to rotate like silky stars
As though her recent new life
Is laughing matter in her belly.
She may not be existentialist,
Crinkling eyes at old sunlight,
A sun and a moon conflating
Darkness in inward eyeballs
Or too much milk in stomach
Or excess moonshine in a sky
As moon plays hide and seek
With cloud in full view of sea.
She is merely burping her gas
Says mom who is sleeping by.
Baby laughs in milky tummy
Gurgling a laughter’s bubbles.
Her bubbles tickle a midnight
On world floating on its sleep.
On a festival of lights ,we fire crackers,
What sounds gun practice on war ship.
That is clear in the way crows explode
In the almond tree brooding on shore.
Almonds fall like grenades hand ready,
Not ones found in gift box for festival ,
But ones that increase your fire power
To get a maximum dead on other side,
Like rain moths swarming street lights
Greedy for light, fall dead to a shadow.
I cannot remember light’s rays
That fell on that day, in quality.
Sky was not light nor dull gray.
Sun was not its fire and stone.
He might not have interleaved
With our eyes in the basement.
Hands would rise up in prayer.
No light seemed to have risen.
There was darkness in the belly
As darkness spread in window.
(remembering the passing of my son a year ago)
Now there is a breeze behind back
That might have come from south.
I swivel head back to feel it in hair
I had left behind twenty years ago.
A wind-blown chariot hurried near.
My inside had a belly fear of death.
I have left behind old man walking,
A fisherman tugging at a fish in sea
A fat man puffing chest to rhythm.
I have left behind a turtle’s carcass.
Crows may be through their meal.
I have left so many of them behind
After night went leaving the crows
To finish its dark deeds by the day.
From empty sky of my balcony,
I watch a far field of barren sea
And endless field expands them
Till the field of insignificant fish
Flying to an insignificant death.
A sea shapes vision of my body.
My mind flies to fish in the sea,
Its barren wastes of sea-deaths.
From an insignificant eye-view
I am sky-shaped insignificance.
Framed inside sky’s immensity
I hold infinity in insignificance.
A child reaches middle of poem.
His eyes are moving on its lines,
Only to trail away to a granddad
Planting his beans in the garden.
Granddad has now lost his place
And his garden is running empty.
Poet grandson writing the poem
Has also lost his place in world.
Old bodies lose their place soon.
Their old poems lose their place.
(Reading a poem Losing One’s Place by Jacob Russell)
A series of oil lamps are seeking
An ephemeral existence by wind.
We do copies of deaths by wind
Of trees of birds in broken sleep
A moon fluttering on totem pole
A fragmentary moon of a dream
That is a figment from our sleep.
Copies are fragments of our life.