From the sandy hillside, this tricolored heron

walks the stone steps with more dignity

than our President, and surveys this world.

As it was in the beginning, now

my intercessions rise with his winged leaving.


Tuning the Sky

My thoughts are in an easy chair.

I hold my wine glass to the window

and turn it to tune the sky

to deeper gray, the trees to silhouettes,

concerns into air, the day into night.


Evening Rāga

eve raga

The color of evening, melody of afternoon.

Five note sets like lines of poems,

playing out the day while I write.

Perhaps I should be composing a ghazal,

ravishing disunity, couplets to end the day.