Half a world away, I walk a narrow, stone path. In the rice fields, the Balinese people

There is my shadow, A dark outline of this body And yet, it also holds, The hidden imperfections Of my existence.

Walking on the edge, Between awareness and sleep. Sometimes... I’m in the moment, I feel my body,

As I enter my sixty-third year, Fall leaves grace the path I love, With hues of red, Gold and orange.

Mr. R. would talk about his deceased brother, he dreamed about him frequently; also of an eagle

Embrace that which comes with ease: The twinkling of an eye, The drumbeat of a heart, The blooming of a flower,

I remember your smile, your laugh,… you gave so freely. It’s hard that you are gone. I sigh and walk along the bay.

Lately, a sadness pervades, I mourn for youth, perhaps passion of younger days. With age, some of that passion

If I had all the time In the world To write, What would I say? What would be the most

The flesh withers as we age But our inner spirit Remains the same. And when the body dies The spirit breaks free

At that magical time When the yellow moon Sets, And the pink mist Of dawn,

Summer is near it’s end, I regret not visiting my childhood home, near the gulf, where the sunset

Firefly shine your light, Brighten my life, Lead the way, through The meadows, in my mind. Firefly, float so high,

Itchy eyes scaly feet achy joints and bad teeth hair so fine

The chimes outside the pottery studio ring like a temple bell, calling the faithful to honor,