Poetry

I was learning, how 
not to catch you. 
 
Called the cloud 
hugging a hillside. 
Can you climb on the road? 
No, it said, I want to play with the moon. 
 
So, 
this was becoming, 
without presence. 
An epiphany? No it was a crying 
theme, discovery of the self. 
 
When the tremors came, 
you were flung like a doll, 
opening the earth 
one breath long. 
 
Swallows were eyeing the sky. 
 
 
•
 
The hollow tree 
traps the light and sends out 
the blue pupils of yellow eyes. 
 
I am still counting the limbs 
under the boulders. 
The landmass was moving asking names. 
 
The big vulture was watching 
the end of the feast, 
for schizophrenics. 
 
A bomb hidden in turban will 
kill a saint. You say I should 
call for the girls. 
 
Why don't you wear the skullcap 
to cover the beautiful mind 
which will not kiss the fire?