Six umbrellas sit on the bench.
A rain is falling on all of them.
Two umbrellas dark as a night,
Join them at the green bench.
Sea sits behind them, in green.
A sky stands behind it in blue.
Sea has no umbrella above it.
Being high, a sky has neither.
Rain beats down on umbrellas.
They have to leave the bench.
The bench has no umbrellas.
It is now wet with the rainfall.
Umbrellas , folded and home,
Are dripping with a memory.
There is smile on the infant.
You have to give her a name.
Now she smiles , now cries
And the sun appears in rain
Name her sun through rain.
You all know nameless sun
Through the rain and cloud.
Name her the smile in tears
A queen of myth who sings
A lullaby about life’s brevity.
The image of the boy pressing nose
Against a sweet shop glass is sweet.
They are not sweet , bodies of flies.
Fly catcher works up there smooth
And flies are sprinkled all over floor.
It is not sweet as nose pressing boy.
Our twilight blinks a transitory day,
A moving shadow on series of hills,
Like overcast eagle looking a prey.
This is the time of cows return dust,
Their hoofs askew in an earth hour,
Homeward, as night returns moon.
In thinking of the plank I now have river,
Men in straw hats crossing it, ghost feet
Brought together in a careful negotiation
Of river gushing under , the arms akimbo
And rain is pouring down faces like tears.
There were twenty steps with a rope
Many hands have worn dark in ages
In the de ja vu many others had met.
Rope is darker by descending hands
From upstairs room with lost words.
We look up , walk away, a word lost.
I have notions that all this is not there
With the sun and the clouds and a sky
Falling in the sea, in their fit of laughter
The wind sporadic from the mountains.
Mountains are not there in the horizon
The horizon is notion from our dreams
Embedded in old mountains not there.
Notions are not there when bodies gone.