Gulmohar Dreams

I dreamed of a Gulmohar tree,

Tall, sprawling, swaying crimson,

Framed perfectly in a giant picture window,

A gentle breeze caressing.

I'm in a house I once lived, a short-lived interlude,

Sitting up in my great-grandfather's ancient bed in my old room

But the window is new, different

Portal-like, an opening into another dimension.

Inside-outside views,

A tiny rip, unraveled seams floating 

Suspended particles adrift,

Distorted time-space.

Gnarled, hard round brown rind,

Contained flames, fanning far,

Drawing me to the window,

Inside-out.

The Wild Places

Sing me a song of the wild untrodden,

Draw me a picture of the quiet night,

Punctured only by thoughts.

Thoughts of the ancient,

Of the old man in his cave, in his den, in his tree, beside the fire

Slow. Slowing. Burning, crackling, hissing. Embers

And all the while, 

The stray thoughts,

The unbidden wisdom of happenstance

Melancholy murmurings

A stirring inside, 

Rip me from this reverie, take me to the wild places

Plant me there

Beside the rocks and grass and mud underfoot,

And rushing water cold.