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


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


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

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