People need actors and pretenses
so their self-faith remains unshaken
The first school boy entered the quadrangle
on a cold, damp Wednesday morning
Hawks took flight as the thought sent
shock waves of danger through the trees
scarred crucifixes carved on their trunks
Eyes flashing, he smiled at the power of instinct

Dark highways thronged with Fakirs
bundled in their saffron skin, drifting
Stoned and tripping, from a world known
to a world untold
Dragon scales weave a maze in the sand
The sun seeps in through the glass
Memories of forest fires and burst cylinders
and hash dinners structure new dreams




Today, I awoke with a start on the forest floor
recalling the scent of her departure from my mind