Listen to poem:
Engaging All The Senses
Bare feet find the leaves
before the eyes claim the trees—
dawn knows its place here.
its wingbeats spring from branches
humming to stir the still air.
A bell from nowhere
criss-crosses the foggy dell.
cows lift their slow heads.
The gate lies open halfway
yet no one passes through.
At the meander,
a child dips bare hands in shade.
ripples tilt the reeds.
sky slips between small fingers,
borrowing water's blue hue.
In the market crush,
oranges ooze citrus zest.
a woman coughs once.
all the stalls lean towards her
spilling spice, dust and sunlight.
An old man pauses
where weeds have cracked the pavement.
rain gathers in pools.
he grabs at his suit coat sleeve
as if greeting someone there.
Under chapel eaves
swallows stitch the afternoon.
wax melts into bowls.
A moth circles the altar—
where no flame admits to call.
By the empty pier
salt dries white on sleeping nets.
the tide has gone out.
a shiny bead drops from hand,
splats on dried seaweed.
In the dank garden,
leaves reveal their undersides.
someone shuts a book.
the scent of rain arrives first
to find glass panes streaming tears.
Mists lift from the pond
a heron stands where reeds part—
a flash of silver;
water, wing, and rippling rings—
the eye cannot keep them all.
Last train has long gone.
A station clock ticks alone
on the waiting bench.
someone folds their train ticket
into a paper airplane
Dawn on empty fields.
dew hangs from a spider's web,
gone seconds later.
the spider missed the quiver
of footsteps bound for elsewhere.
Dipping into swim,
coolness finds my wrist at first.
waves slap at my face.
ripples echo on the bank
saying they arrived here first.
Leaving the water,
I watch where eddies linger.
their shapes reforming,
the stones beneath the surface,
revealing, hiding, being.
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