4:30 am – Rain

Early morning rain makes me nostalgic. I don’t miss the past, but some mornings – the rainy mornings – I sometimes think of it.

Here are a few sketches from my travel journals:


Wind driven rain,
sky dark as slate –
before this storm
even the leaves
are fleeing.

6-5-94 Tokyo


Is She Pregnant?

I cannot look beyond Brazil.
Beyond this time and place
there is a foreignness where
I might not recognize myself.
I should isolate myself to this
island in time, for today at
this table I can see myself
as I truly am.
Perhaps nothing but the folly of
my earlier choices have led me
here, to her, now.
Still, there is a magic here
if I could only find it.
At this table still cluttered with breakfast
dishes I sit with my hands
folded and head bowed –
not knowing whether to weep for my loss
or for the frightening thought of
crimes yet to be committed.

5-16-93 Valinhos, Brazil


Brazil Girl #122

Firm breasts or a push up bra?
It is all the same
for she knows that
she is desirable  in her
tight white top.

2-18-93 Sao Paolo, Brazil



Empty, no woman; not now.
Still if she were here
I’d caress her for a little
before desperately wishing
that she were gone.

9-10-93 Sao Paolo, Brazil


In America
you sleep as
dogs scratch and
kittens snivel.
The yard lantern winks
at the moon –
in faraway Japan
Miyake-san yawns,
the temple bell tinkles.
dark shadows fall
on the children
while your town
lies resting
in the shade of
a church steeple.

Japan 1994


My House

I sleep in an old house
with broken shutters
that creak in the wind
it matters not that the
paint is peeling or the steps
are broken. there is no one
to call on this rainy day
as the clouds loom dark
against the cold black sky
See: an armchair it faces
the window in whose
reflection flickers an old fool
warming his hands above
a solitary lamp

Asia 1994

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