Spring Thunder, Spring Lightning
Hungry ghosts bang their empty bellies
Who ever said the kettle cares not for the meal?
Trees lean to the earth and touch it like Buddha
asking the grass safe in its smallness to be a witness
That what looks like sorrow is sacred; and on this open
parking lot the rain slides under cars like a sea of snakes
and toward this tree under which I stand for shelter
where the yellow teeth of monkeys flash behind the leaves
This is outstanding, Jeff.
Thanks Emily. Thinking of reading this one at tonight’s open reading at Black Swan.
Sounds good. Sorry to miss it! (Did you get my email to that effect?)
Yep. That just means more wine for Mei…
HA! I’ll toast you two from here 😉