A Final Bidding

White bird in the distant bright, if it please
your youthful heart, come and unfold
those mighty wings by green arrow’s edge.

Around us, red leaves murmur of the approaching
frost, yet, I suspect that her apron pockets contain
secrets which we will never hear.

White bird in the distant light, if it please
your faithful heart, come and promenade
gracefully by my weary, rain-washed eyes.

The persimmons are slinking away and
I fear that we shall never meet again.

If it please you, it would please me.

In the Absence of Monsters

In the absence of monsters,
Aquila’s angels beam down
upon soft cheeks resting atop
mother’s shoulder.

A flying eagle soars through
slender stems carrying golden
garments of majesty.

In the absence of monsters,
we cannot possibly conceive
of the
pear blossoms reclining at
the end of the rainbow.

It is the autumn of needles.