Man has the priviledge
 of being enraptured by beauty
Women have the priviledge
 of being beauty

The biggest things personal art
Why would we ascribe to inspiration
what are simply matters of the heart
set in public metaphor for private confession

We were dupped into thinking
Shakespeare knew the murmurations
 of the human heart from nothing
when verely he did know his own palpatations

The fabricated characters we love
woven into comedy, tragedy, and history
were fashioned out of true flesh and blood
along with some gleenings from antiquity

They become ever so much more engaging and sensible
when verely his own life makes them apprehensible

A mosquito visited my bed
 and entreated to my ear
 an awful sermon
 concerning silence
Attentively I did hear
 and took the matter seriously
Then silence itself came
 and its sermon was so palpably sweet
 that, verely, I did know it and believe
And back and forth
 mosquito inveighing
 silence soothing me
 to sleep — perchance to dream

The flower attends
 its blossom
nature takes care of the rest

Once you had broken my heart
Or, rather, let me break my own heart
 myself
I looked the gift universe in the mouth,
 admonished myself for scolding
 the impish, smiling Krishna,
 bowed and wondered
What God,
what miraculous being
 could bring about such a thing!?
Why don’t you break my heart
 one more time just for good luck!?

The fire did burn —
 the branches twisted and snapped,
 popping in extorsion
 now all scabby and withered
Enough to bury it
 or fling it out to the river
  to float away
And yet the embers still glow
 and the pulse of the heat
 that once stoked the flames
 still beats
Still prays and dreams
 for its tree to rise again

No man is an island
Flora breathes life into him
Wheat gives him this day his daily bread
Fauna prepares the feast
A myriad of such connections
weave a web
 that elevates his itsy bitsy being 
 and every movement ripples
  in consequence
So thunder rumbles at betrayal
and birds sing in harmony
and a rainbow signifies
 the sun shining after the rain

I gaze into the meandering stream
 and gather the sun in my hand:
it reveals a corona
 of water striders’ sparkling skimming
so vast spread since the big bang,
 everywhere is the center of the universe
Empty-handed, held in God’s hands

Some blessèd mornings
I awake to bliss,
linger in the heavenly cocoon,
and marvel at my luck,
its splendor

Then I bid myself
— stay still —
remembering how
previous awakenings
broke so rare an enchantment

and so I lay,
a happy sacrifice
strewn upon my bed,
altar of contentment

for minutes, hours,
until I let time tumble out of hand
and then, it’s clear as day:
even the infinite bounty of paradise
can be too much…
and I get up

Only when I closed my eyes
did I hear the birds singing