Not I

so the poem
is not the poem
not to think only
not this day
not in these eerily fleeing shadows
the tears
not the cries
hearing pain
the weak voice in thin hills
not her wrinkled linen dress
worn yellow under the sun
so the poem is
not the poem
not the poem
not I

jppestana
november 25, 2017

Rising Skies

from the east
the sun and juniper suddenly become one
the blanket of blue mist 
the calm mountain the moment
all the small birds
soften in the gaze
the bright fish rise to the surface
like shards of broken sun
they run from his shadow
his diminishment amidst
the rising
skies

jppestana
november 8, 2017