3 Haiku

over the pushcart in the snow

the little pine tree
rests its weighted bough

wind through tree tops
the deer stops
to have a gander

In the Shadow 2

I speak as the crow speaks,

From the last untrammeled corner of the world.

I speak my inviolate denouncement of the light

But no one hears.

Darkness has a way of swaying one to believe

In its beauty

But it is a beauty that cannot be told.

At the behest of my people I stand on the brink

Of daylight, but I am naked beneath this robe

Of darkness, and the eyes of light 

Would make me such a fool that no great dance

And no hysterical song

Would make them look away.

I have the stars.

Together, we mock the follies of the vivid days.

Here where my madness is unseen 

And unassailable, let me relish in the invention

Of the light and shade of my dreams.

In the Shadow

Leave me be in the shadow.

I am training my heart to see.

The muses bring me cups of wine—

Honeyed wine, stirred with memory.

I drink beyond drunkenness and beyond oblivion

To a country of my own creation

Where Bedouins of a perfect race

Travel across deserts in an endless train

To take their place amongst the stars.

Stay away. Let me keep my post

Where Death is a gentle vagabond

Who strums his ancient guitar and hums,

Where the air is fresh with the scent

Of rotting pine and moistened earth,
Where roses worship at the doorstep,

Where the tomb of my forebears cannot be pillaged

And the ache of my birth remains intact.

Each morning the daylight comes knocking at the door,

But I do not answer.

In the shadow, I speak in exotic tongues

And the crickets serve as my chorus.
Though no meaning can be derived from what is spoken,
Everything that is needed to be said is said.

We exalt in the worship of the darkness

And our prayers are answered with an exonerating silence

That does justice to the dead.