The cat-in-the-moon tiptoes
Through mist-meadows
Above the lake
That softly chimes.
There, nothing glistens
In the night-mirrored brake
No space, no time, nor history, nor dreams,
Only the scent of the white
Petal
Wafting forever on wind-beams.
While the moon-cat curls again
Into the cloudspun
Cave of timeless times,
Here, in this hour of roses,
And of all things newly begun,
The blue heron
Listens
Between the dawnlight
And the shadows
For the shimmering arrival
Of the great gold wings of the sun.
Written around 1991
Photo: © Luckynick / Dreamstime.com