Thursday, September 2, 2010

Before It was Said

Listening to clicks
of the water heater settling
after a morning of introspection
on the white side of cedar leaves.

I never blink when I want to become.
There is no noise to emulate
when you sit in a still puddle
and wait for a lotus to sprout from the top
of your head. If I stay where I am,
I am at the end of a destination.

It would be desert without shrubs
or sand: motion of leaving
and returning to the time when my name
was about to be spoken by my mother –
her existence wanting nothing but an utterance.


  1. very nice poem with some stellar lines: "I never blink when I want to become." and others. I also like the simple language and soft voice of this. lovely writing.

  2. Thank you sir. I checked out your poetry blog and I am following it. Your style is original and intriguing.