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Dah
Cream, Cocoa
Plum nipples and your
flowing mane, ravishing
tropical dusk. Brown.
Lover. Cream and
cocoa.
Morning: sky
--colored dew.
Womanly.
Moisture.
Fusion.
Lovers dream, awake.
Cock crows at
sunrise. Light's mani
--festation: contagious
rise
and fall.
Lathered,
juice, lust, nectar.
Soft, hard,
glistening.
Fire in the cave:
O fertile seed.
Complexity
Your gaze, deadly
star-fire,
sticks and stones,
vicious words.
I'm sitting watching you
twisting into a storm,
then in a surge, you run
down the rainy street.
All around me
jittery North Beach
is bustling
like a nest of insects
As if swimming
a vertical river
I stand up and walk
in the down pour.
How heavy everything
feels, how shaky.
A delivery truck
rumbles over the streets.
Desert as Meditation
The desert's face,
like a welder's mask
lying under the sun.
I hear cicadas
in heavy heat, wings
as contentious buzzers.
The dire thirst
of crawling sand
its reshaping
chained to the wind
to years of scattering.
There are many ways
to rearrange the sand:
sandstone,
sandcastles,
sandbars...
In the dunes
I'm sitting and waiting
for my meditation
to rearrange the sky
into a new universe.
But today
I'm not the one to do this.
A green lizard stretches its neck
tilts its head, eyeing an insect
hobbling over the desert
©2019 by Dah
Dah is a poet having a human experience. He is a Pushcart Prize
and Best Of The Net nominee, and the lead editor of the poetry critique group,
The Lounge. He is the author of nine books of poetry. Dah lives in Berkeley,
California, where, for the past fifteen years, he has taught yoga: meditation,
stretching, and deep relaxation, to children in public and private schools.
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