Breathe

The stark white sense of place
What else is there
Not quite emptiness

The end of innocence
The end of death
What else is there

Many are called and
So few chosen
Who can decide

Fate reaches out
We grasp the hand
That’s closest

The Road Home

The golden clouds
Tease the landscape
With their fond reassurance

How I remember the road to
Nam Tso in the summer –
The crashing stream
Running happily beside us

No Nepali music
Will ever sound
So good –

The road beckons
Longingly with
The summer’s heart.

How does it know the time
Will flow to the end
Like a river?

Maxfield Parrish Sky

Under the canopy of clouds
Where dreams migrate
Across the sky
Every possibility is rampant
Fishtailing with glee
Outwardly the quiet procession
Inwardly the explosive joy

In gold and white
Against a sea of blue
Those etched yearnings
Filter silver linings
Soft to the touch
Like the scales of magical fish
The present moment filled to the brim
With promises that need no tomorrow

The heart soars
All edged with grace
He knew he tasted he painted it
So well
Dear Max.


***
In honor of his birthday which was yesterday, July 25th.