Desert Snow

and other poems

russians know cold, she said, 
that's why I read them, 
but I know cold that blows from the desert,

snow and sand, 
two oceans on land, 
born to one and one made from,

you wrote the other day, 
kind enough words, 
but I only saw words behind them,

was it sand or snow (behind them),

I dream of mountain willows, 
no such thing
but they are beautiful are they not,
mountain willows...

perhaps beauty can bloom from a desire to remember, 
I remember you in untouched sand, 
rumi's sand,
perhaps you will remember me there.

Hamnot

he searched for a burden,
as men do,
but found none more worthy
than what he left behind,

a prince but not a prince, 
in cold winter where light shivers and friendships thin,

going mad...

but just a man 
going mad, 
and not,

a Prince.

is it what is, 
or what remains? 

light                             does not 
remain,

a word                         does not
contain,

a poet                          does not 
reduce,

I write river
but it is your river
I breathe.

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