Self

Endlessly flowing
shifting and shaping
it is light
obeying the law of light
moving
in ways we do not sense in our Selves.

Prajna's Dream

A shudder ripples over you
one of the movements in a symphony of sunlight
where your tail flicks wildly like a whippet
and on younger legs you leap
across savannahs of mice.

Smokey's Yawn

A trimmest flick
of pink
so naturally
a part of the order of things
in the cosmos.

White Butterflies

Unseen during the long stretch of heat
the leaves yet unspeckled
they emerge
for a moment
only to flit away in the delicate fullness of life
these last days of summer.

Last Night (My Proustian Night)

I lie awake, alert, feeling the elapsed hours, ceding to a resignation of sleeplessness.  I gaze at the blocks of night above the outlines of the day: a pile of books, a jutting lamp, and feel a growing lightness, eventually emptying myself into the lake of oblivion.