Thursday, February 07, 2008


a white crane lands on the shaman's hand
weightless soul flight

somewhere in the snow-crowned pines
the raven watches

kite-strung prayer-flags flap at the high pass
is it the wind that moves the prayer
or the prayer that moves the wind

a gate opens at sunset by a northern lake
striking down the seer

a boy climbs out his window onto the roof
at midnight naked under stars

he steps into the circle of old ones
firelit crescent moon on his breast
dancing till he becomes human at last

a thousand mice under the snow
waiting for the fox to whisper

hard flung rain a crushing weight on shoulders
carrying plantain bunches to market

his hand moves to the door and waves
whirlwinds dance at his ankles stepping through
to spend a month walking the bronze desert naked

with dragons



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