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Lightness of being

These flowers drop with their feet up
To the immensity of a night’s dark sky
The way we pull feet up to feel light.

An all night sky feels light , bit by bit
Drops every star ,its luminous feet up
The way we pull feet up to feel light.

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Slough

we are children of ma fatly sitting
on her smile at our hands passing
how they were grubby below nails

it is she who bore us at new dawn
persisted with us in hills and moon
in a sky of white words like clouds

it is she who will change our skins
a slough we turn over to her rocks
so it will announce we once lived.

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Where sea is ocean

Bengal bay shivers with the wind.
But Indian ocean strikes sky wall.

My ocean is my sea, a Bengal bay,
Men in it  being three dimensional.

When men go fishing in high seas
They cross the borders of the seas

To enter the high streets of ocean
Where fish fly in continental shelf.

At the horizon, sea is welded joint
With the blue vagueness of the sky.

That is where the sea turns ocean
And Bengal’s bay the Indian ocean.

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Upper fog

He of the upper valley comes
Sometime to our upper story,
When snow is less, trees more.

I ask how snow-wheat grows
On trees and then sun comes
And there is water a-dripping.

In the upper valley tall pines
Stand as if dead always there,
To be green soon after noon.

It is how upper valley works,
In my upper story he tells me
In ways vague and temporary.

In the upper valley the trees
Eat snow-wheat for  a sheen
When all is eaten turn green.

He of upper valley is vague,
About all things in the world.
Upper fog makes him vague.

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Fateful sea

These marigolds lie on the beach
Awaiting a fateful sea to pick up

In next wave and hurl them back.
They were meant to live for God

Somewhere over a stone phallus
In words repeated in a sanctum.

They might be meant to beautify
The dead as they lay on bamboo

Their sightless sights set on a sky.
They are meant to beautify death

And to worship God ,not to wave
Lazily to spring’s vagrant breeze.

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Vapor

In May ,the sea is an uncertain gray
Between earth brown and sky blue,

Clouds gather cottons at higher end
Like printed cotton flowers on dress

With no potential to bring new rain
All the way up India map’s bottom.

A pale red moon hovers on the sea
But it may not stir love in its heart.

In May , sea turns listless and gray
An air useless with fruitless vapor.