Morning Glory

petals to feathers
ruffled like lace — a quaint sun-
flower raising head


This place

This place
I will [re]call upon arrival : august
in the shadow of a blazing sun-
flower steeped in saffron
serendipitous dawn ―
unrequested unannounced
quietly expected evermore welcomed
then and there, laconic sun rises in earnest
above a hazy lush-green cornfield
sinks in a palm of dust
tossed over a wavering mountainous sea
and behind my shoulder
there! ― so far away as to forget my fear
of not ever turning back

"These are the days that must happen to you."
― Walt Whitman


Every now and then

Every now and then
I weep at the sight of a sumptuous
daylily in tears ― rejoicing in the quick
unexpected evermore welcomed
mid-august rain


"The Stranger Stumbles on Himself in the Stranger" (Mahmoud Darwish)

We are one in two /
There’s no name for us, woman, when the stranger
stumbles upon himself in the stranger. Of our
garden behind us we have the force of shadow. So slow
what you want of your night's land, and conceal
what you want. We came in a hurry from the twilight
of two places at one time, and searched together
for our addresses: Go behind your shadow,
east of the Song of Songs, a shepherd of sand grouse,
you’ll find a star dwelling in its death, then climb a neglected
mountain and you’ll find my yesterday completing its cycle in my
You’ll find where we were and where we’ll be together,
we are one in two /
Go to the sea then, man, west of your book,
and dive lightly, lightly as if you were carrying
yourself at birth in two waves,
you'll find a forest of water grass and a green sky
of water, then dive lightly
lightly as if you were nothing in anything,
and you will find us together . . . 
we are one in two /
We need to see how we were here, you
stranger, as two shadows opening and closing on what
has been shaped of our shape: a body disappearing then reappearing
in a body disappearing in the mystery of the eternal
duality. We need to return to being two
to embrace each other more. There is no name for us, woman,
when the stranger stumbles upon himself in the stranger!

― Mahmoud Darwish, from The Butterfly's Burden
tr. by Fady Joudah

Under the fire rainbow. Fishing.

"How do you know when it's the right time?"
"Well, you just kind of . . . know." ― he replies.


Forget time, [re]collect love

"The illusion which exalts us is dearer to us than ten thousand truths."
― Anton Chekhov, Gooseberries and Other Stories