Self Portrait at the Age of 20
Quiet steps,
Listen…
A ticking sound,
Not to chip the winter frost,
But to seek a cave, to sleep the day,
Or shading willow, for comfort and calm…
Upon a bench
For daydreams to weave,
With the cat in black
Trimming the day with peddles of breeze…
How I wish to speak,
Though meows and purrs but the only speech,
Should the closest distance
Be heard, though heard in mute,
Not to question, please,
Envious desires which I receive,
But what fragile and weak can scar me deep,
So hide to heal, back to my realm,
Then awake once more…
The same question is left
With no answer of reply,
But what haunts my peace
Brings hope that springs a twig,
Thus is the gift that was given to me
Though drowsiness is still juicy and sweet…
A gift that was given to me
Alone.
Happy birthday to myself
A work that progressed nearly a month
Written in Birmingham, Alabama
2006/7/1
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Let not a drop of desire
Disturb the heart in ripples
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