Between, what is
and what is not
is the entire realm
of philosophical thought
The fine line of logos
giving eros a kiss
a philosopher lives for
such a moment as this.

Rokie, Pacifica
March 1997

Storm tossed I land in the
heart of your affections and
I am home.
Wrinkled and worn I sink into the
soul of your laughter and
I am home.
Overwhelmed with fatigue I am
lulled into the cradle of your
and I am home.
And when I am lost in the desert
of my despair you come as the
wind, howling your raga call,
seeking me out, bidding me follow
tempting me home.

Rokie, Pacifica

Winds kiss me
Trees whisper to me
Sweet grasses caress me
Pines whistle at me
And yet I yearn for you
You are the winds that
nuzzle me
The trees that enfold me
The grasses softly bathing me
The pine trees winking gently at me
And so I yearn for you.

Rokie, Pacifica