Plainfield, Vermont

      The trembling acres on those grounds
Were fit with trees as tall and tall
And swaying high from left to right
As far as I could see, they were.

      They lined the trails of whitest snow
That covered plains and hills atop
A frigid cold that seemed to pierce
The birds that nest so far and high.

      The coldest March I’ve ever seen
With branches stiff on highest trees
That threatened me with distant sounds 
Were ominous with every sway.


Where the wind goes

Wind blows away goes
Away goes away wherever

The wind goes. Yesterday, my day blasé
blank stare from my countenance

Towards the wind and the rain
And the mobs of people

In the street in the car then in the
Pseudo friendly cavalier soiree

where the wind

I stared
At the open windowpane,

And blank stared through the conversations at a friend’s
Soiree but not the window

Where Earth’s fierce cold whirl seethed through,
Stultified by the neighboring buildings yet.

Through the conversations there I
Stared askance, not through the windowpane

But at it.

From where the wind blew that
Day to night

And then,

A comma here, a comma

Where the wind blows
The wind goes.

The plant

It’s the first day that I’m waiting

For my plant to grow.

The third times a charm, I

told my plant as

I grew impatient, “I’ll replant

You” I have said.

Once, I buried the pit of a mango

I could not tend to

And hoped the rain and hoped

The sun would.

“You should have

Told me” were words that my grandma

Uttered, and admonished,

I went to dig in her

Garden and couldn’t find it.

And afraid I tend to plant

Again and again,

Asking that an entelechy such

As a sprout of sewn seeds in any garden

In my garden grow.

Ten am

Today I woke up, the
Sun’s light fought its way

Through the blinds, not suspecting
That it would make its

I was in mid-dream,

I turned mid-dream,
“She is now elusive”

I said of a friend from my
Childhood, are

The words that woke me up
Saying; sorry… that

I woke up saying.
Not panting like

How I awoke 11 years
Ago, asking who

Was there after a night
Of reasonable debauchery.

Today what awoke me
Were the permeated rays –

The Sun soaked the room,
I turned mid-sleep.

Mid-morning sun,
Seeps through the window

Sleeping sounds saying.

From the Moon

The sphere

That becomes the sun, well


Not becomes the sun. It looks

Blue. From afar, that’s what we used


Thousands of years ago to guide

Our journeys; it looked like


A light to us from here.


Northern moon,

Southern setting sun.


That from afar you created our

North. South. East. West.






Where to go? The blinding light

Will guide me tonight.




That I am walking on stone, gravel,

And rock. I see our moon, and

Rays in the day,


The cosmos, with which we arrive.


Wind, Sky

Clear skies make watery eyes.

An allergic flare,
Curiously brought on by

Winds and Northerly climates
That a swarm of birds forecast.

It’s the beginning of fall. The brisk
Air feels like cold dew.

Clear sky? don’t

Can’t you see my eyes

Tell your coffee’s steam.

Just around    the corner is a
Brick wall of a    building.

        of a wall.

    Maybe up this way will do.

No haste,
Steady pace –

I’m wearing      nothing,
Except      clothes.

Clear skies,     cloudy

Can I?  take cover     ’round the
Corner?      there’s  a

Brick buil  d ing.

Great.  brick
A.       wall.

To evade
The masquer   ade.

Up this way Will do.

Línea, Luz

Ser, no solo creer.

Que nuestra luz que emite sus propios rayos

Nos ayuda a resonar y a expresarnos.


Es mi propio himno.

Un impacto de estrellas que al fín chocaron;

Un relámpago que ilumino  los sentidos,

Estrella y mar.


Línea, luz.

Un camino con distintas salidas y

Entradas.  Y Entre las salidas, entradas.


Un laberinto de todos tus sueños y empeños;

Tus esfuerzos y tus virtudes.

Quiero que empieces ahí.


Reverbera el himno.

Se me escapa lo que escribí.

Volví a aludir a un sueño.


Ser, creer.


Safely Home

That night was filled with

standers-by, thus

A surge in city cars. Even then

I walked, well, tread, from those certain

City blocks.


I walked, well, tread, to my group

Of city blocks, despite the many

City cars,


Not to clear my head but mind.

 I always am wont to notice

The change

-of- view:


The transition of blocks paved with concrete

To those laid with cobble stone.


The segue of scenes-


Of buildings glass and upward built,

to brownstone homes to parks

with grass.


And old blocks with aesthetic

old-school fringe, from the ones

with glass and tint.


And If there is a fussy

Line, what is your store about?


That’s not to say by 8 I’d make

It home, rather that by 8

I’ll make it home.


At last in my group of blocks!


Ill make it safely home from where

I tread. Up from where I headed,

Finally here, finally home. 

Your Being

Ode to your benign

Like a ray that pierced the atmos-

And emits
the light
of stars
And stars;


Like light, bright-like light

When there is no sun –

Your light was piercing

through and through;
Oh upward beam.

Made for us by us.

This, on being benign.

Where there’s more
To tell, there’s more

To know.

Thank you for
Being you.