The Wild Grasses of Dulan

this morning this town
just to the left of time

every place i enter
is playing bossa nova

i take this as a good sign

my breakfast, a burrito
has pineapple within

another good sign, me thinks…

two toothpicks for tortilla holders
pineapple, cucumber, apple slices, and tomato

flavors that beckon heat not yet arrived

the cool before the storm of
still humid heat

this day will bring

dog antics everywhere

attentive, unwavering focus
with each bite, motion, pulse of being

from a white dog that is clearly
an apprentice in the

arts of pineapple burrito consumption

never wavers, his dedication admirable
filling me simultaneously with the need

for space
discipline

care

and yes… the black sand glistens
like a million stars
with each step

of stunning, heat drenched
rubble on shore

nearby within cages
the preference for concrete
on the sun

drenched shore

oppression pervades
where there is only
light + space

the experience of beings contained
in strips

echoes in periphery
dazzling beauty

your heart

the constrictions of others
the need for shelter

heat

steady
heat

concrete ruins above shore
shade navigated

i enter

rubble strewn
rust in bottle cap

the vast beauty framed in random, perfect
decay

my kind of place

a seascape stretches in the purity of blue
green line of mountain defying sun
tropical nowhere

on the few feet of drenched flat stone
in ruins tumbling to sea
i sit

take my royal seat

lamas emerge
all that can’t be said

these ruins on shore

amidst rock and 
aspiring
slime of moss

you would be proud

so yogi of me
the view

the rubble (this word again that clearly has the favors of my heart), the invisible stars

my element of longing

the truth be known…
in my yogi diapers still

shitting myself in
continuous distraction

but looking the part, the space
this imitation of father expanse

something is true

i enter space

and come to see much
know little

the heat of sky, heart of sea…

this though:
that i have a great love for what is blue

and that this blue loves me

even when i cease to smile

…

answering, calling light
of pre noon

i step into light of sun

scorch my bones

ecstasy of union in absence

that decodes , translates
into these hours of

late night melancholy

distant shores

only the presence of your heart
matters anymore
beneath my hand

the pulse
between

i am walking home
as hours become years

moments become dreams

i have never known clarity
like i know

that it is time
to come home

to you

…

grasses , grasslands in sultry heat
aloe-ish succulents

this path in sun
among dunes
that disguise themselves

as the mirage of silent wavering
in still winds

openness as distance

light as …

cinematic shifts
genre unknown

the motif: now

only a path, and tone of feeling
a color scheme none can describe

subtle in it’s hints
imminence

each step the lens
this eye cinematographer
the script this heart

we have become a film shot by no crew
here on the northern shore of taitung

the wild grasses of dulan

the intermittent palms
(a long shot)

nothing happens

this is the beauty of the scene

the walls recede
the shot fades

the filmhouse of heart has it’s moment
in opaque light

silence

the lingering of absence that is art

(scene fading in)

every pore in macro clarity

this hovering
warm breath

as my mouth
lips

descend molecularly

towards
tremorous curve

line of breast

each detail of your skin

inhaled essence

that slow outbreath
that only the geometries

of passion
greater than love

can reveal

this impeccability
of the infinite moment

before contact

your nipple extends
in slow motion,

in knowing

towards the descent of liquid essence

this breath that draws in
your essence

in the macro lens of truth
true hunger

from my own essence

our uniquely own merge
know themselves

become no longer
anyone’s own

passion

and then…

an african stringed lute strumming
from distant village

the color red

we are all that is to be given

between transparent veils
of sweat + blessings

the sun consumes
all offerings

people suffer still

and yet…

and yet…

all that is
and is not
is here

beyond cinema of tale

tara’s tears

and simply
a man discovering
his being

in the mirror temple

of you