Bristlecone ~ a "new" Triparshva

Bristlecone




bristlecone pines,
they straddle two dimensions
- mountain wind



opening the stone,
a sapling sprung forth



a red wheelbarrow
leans against the fence,
its tyre deflating



how many tassels has
a cardinal's galero?



la bella luna
shares a doorway
with the mourning dove



planting daisies
how pale my hands!



disturbed
beneath the wrack and mire,
turtles all the way down



only Poseidon’s trident
was found washed ashore



so auspicious!
her three-faced Buddha
recovered from the storm



in the eyes of a stranger
an old lover's gaze



at first I laugh
and then I cry
watching the city lights



from the executive suite -
tents in Zucotti



pigeons and pinstripes
scatting across
the canvas squares



does it shine, also
on the Sea of Tranquility?



a psychic sign
in the palm reader's window
only half-lit



the station agent
fresh out of tickets to sell



high up above
an Escher-like
grid of powerlines



a radio voice
talks about the blue jay sky



crackle, crackle . . .
the hen's fresh eggs sizzle
away the day



the scent of cilantro
from my old umbrella



inside the volume
of Van Gogh's letters,
one pressed flower



we promise to meet again
for the next meteor display





p.a., willie, sandra, tzetzka, pat, sandra, willie, tzetzka, p.a., pat, tzetzka, pat, barbara, sandra, pat, willie, ashley, pat, barbara, tzetzka, sandra, tzetzka






First published in A Hundred Gourds 2:3