2016 04 14
Rain drops stream down windshield of my fast car,
enclosing lost memories in sparkling gems.
I turn steering wheel to glide along curve,
following gold beam that guides me through gloom.
Cars speed around me on three-lane highway
as if they race for who will win first prize.
Should I park and dream all day in wet woods,
or type all day before computer screen?
While I wandered lost in dark city streets
Du Fu appeared from mist with dawning light.
Like Virgil lead Dante to Mountain Haven,
Du Fu teaches me how to chant dream spells.
I traveled sea to sea across this land,
refusing to search for permanent home.
My ancestors traveled ten thousand years,
following Helios from Egypt to Oregon.
High holy mountain is sacred to me,
Parnassos where Phoibos taught me to sing.
I climbed slopes of Takoma, lit by sun,
like Tai Shan for Du Fu my sacred peak.
I hear voices of spirits in my head
who whisper secrets about life and death.
I sew wings of words on thoughts of my mind
so they fly and sing in apple tree grove.
Should I sail more west to stand on Mount Tai
and sing in grove where Du Fu saw his visions?
I build no sail boat, but travel back east
to dwell on shore of Chattahoochee Stream.
I walk around lake in beams of warm light
then sit on rock to compose magic spells.
Whether on Parnassus, Takoma, or Tai,
I find new visions in my heart to sing.