Hut in the Rain
There is silence
As the raindrops linger on the branch
And though it’s just a hut in the morning
Inside, it's the glory of music
As a trickster makes coins
From tests to his will
Bougainvillea
I cannot discern another way through
I listen for the ships, only, no news
Messengers left the coast, beard’s grown by leagues
Sparrows sing of letters, midnight thorns me
Barefoot, I am sea-drenched and smell of shells
But, near the bougainvillea, I sit
Vines That Constrain
For Man, a new occupation is the end of loneliness
Just as hailstones beat away winter at the dawn of spring
Purpose is a fragrance that blossoms at all hours
Glinting its teeth at the vines that constrain
It echoes down new pathways as a ray of sunlight
And makes summer of Man’s work
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