Give and Take

The pure note
of the triangle
is weightless
yet hangs
on bent steel,
while the moon,
with no light
of her own,
bends light
to illuminate
a world.

Like flint on rock
love mirrors
and multiplies,
inert matter
into fire.

And like the moon
and her reflection
or bent arm of steel
and sonorous wave—
whether with you
or without you—I’m never
entirely yours, even
in your arms,
nor can I be
entirely my own
when we are apart.


You are the air that I breathe.
When I am winded, you fill me.
When I forget you, you shape my lungs
and mold yourself to fit its contours.

You are the air that I breathe.
Without you, I cease to be.
With you, I burn like a tongue
of flame or wick on fire.

When I exhale, your breath races
beneath my fingers and courses through my flute.
You are the air that I breathe,
and together, we are a song.

Wayfarers’ Welcome

In the land where clouds sit between the mountains,
Where bamboo groves ring with the insect song of claves,
Where clouds stroll in and out of valleys like smoke up the chimney, or under the doorsill,
Still the smoke of the wood-fired hearth crosses the path among the bamboo groves.