when I was in Japan,
I reached in my bag for yen,
I drew a coin with the Zia on it
given to me by jen
as I stared at the cold breezy mountains of Japan holding this, I  was reminded of
The deep Roots of cracked hot concrete I would work out on
The smell of albondigas Nana would be making
The bright yellow and blue tile mismatched on the lining of the kitchen
The simpleness of living in a "this'll work" architecture
the tumbleweeds, the dry cacti landscape, vast dirt reaching to the dark amber mountains, painted with fading perfect blend from the sunset, homemade meals, la raza, tias and tios, the stray cats and dogs (and family pet names)

My Arizona desert was so hot that everything did its best to share being in the Cool casted shadows.

yet here I was in the complete opposite wishing for that sun
holding this coin brought be back to when you thought I would Judge where you were from
but your "Land of Enchantment" will always remind me of being one step closer to home...

a tear dropped
from the face of despair
and wove it’s way down
it’s entangled hair
weaving through waves
of dry dead strands
it untangled the knots
the braids and the bands
sliding ever so slowly
soothing out like oil
every curve and curl
of every anxious coil
straightening the stress
as it falls to the ground
shaking your head off the mess
let your hair hang down

My open window bears a gaping hole,
Welcoming and whining the sounds of my soul,
A tasteful mesh of stormy delight,
In a moment so blissfully lonesome tonight.  

Whirls of wind that plow through the trees,
Rain drops pouring and ******* wherever it may please,
Slight brisk drafts of air cooling me at ease,
In this hot, oven-like bedroom, while I cough and sneeze.

Alarm clock sets for the dawn of tomorrow,
I lay here filled with bouts of sorrow,
How this beat of peace is simply a borrow,
Due to this I whimper, whine, and willfully wallow.

The openness of my window, this gaping frame,
The darkness of my bedroom, delightfully same,
Provides sense of solitude in this world, without blame,
I complain not a lick that this is the name of my game.

Checked tables
ocean views
winding streets
kicked off shoes
Greek yoghurt
blueberry sweet
fresh brewed coffee
holiday treat

there is water
somewhere on my right
i can hear it
the gentle patter
of what must be
a delicate fountain
hidden amongst
the foliage and flowers
of freshly bloomed lilies
or falling from a feature
at the water's edge
there is a far-distant
rumble of jet engines
undoubtedly drawing
trails of vapour
across an otherwise
unblemished blue
sounds of traffic
dulled to almost nothing
a background hum
barely noticeable
even the unfamiliar
shrieking of a siren
as it passes by
cannot overpower
the drawn-out strains of violin
the rasgueado strum of guitar
the echoed stomp and clap of dancers
performing or practicing
in front of the monument
to a public figure
of some kind
that i would likely
not recognise or be aware of
on the other side of the park
a clock tower bell
chimes the hour
two o'clock
setting a fluttering
of birds to wing
chattering on the breeze
the seemingly constant
pattern of clicking heels
and scuffed steps
along the nearby path
tell of an exhaustive
cosmopolitan life
a dog begins barking
as i open my eyes
reminding me of home

Sounds dreams art form
In age norm- brainstorm
Wake -up alarm rainstorms
    Carmel Clouds
Barking noises and hounds
Chasing to be found
     Sandstorm

Monstrous- snowstorm

Dreams to heal
In uniform
Please no harm
love embraces  
Chasing the wrong faces

Gazing- engaging- singing
Dreams touch a nerve
Reacting jump ringing*
Chasing and saving
Memory of words
Wild child-hummingbirds

Floating in the air taps
No time like a normal nap
The cell phone pictures
and apps
Chasing big stir coffee sips
Valuable time trips
Chasing our dreams

Is real what it seems?
Lips* met* the *sunset
Eyes water love just met

Chasing- raging- event
Lullaby Lighthouse
Does your dreams make any sense?

The wind rises
in the courtyard
baring extraordinary
imaginings
faithful oscillations
of space time
evanescence of
life and death
always mutedly
move side to side
the wind rises
the whole range of experiences
of a flower-like butterfly
venturing through
the damp and dusty
it makes the bronze in the night
cry in its reply
a rustling sound woke me up
its the sycamore castle outside
that carries the burden of dawn
the tree is just like a book opened
birds, insects etc are inserted in the pages
i walk into the bones
to eavesdrop on the breath of this minute
to learn its calmness
and indifference
towards the coming and going
of multifarious clouds.

Grandma is bored, she waits
for my wedding and perhaps
she fantasises that I'm getting pregnant

How would it have been
with grandfather and her in bed?
We don't talk about that

just about the afternoons
in the sun, gaining some
colour for the summer

She would have liked that, but
at that time people thought differently
Anyway, bikinis did not yet exist

So much has changed, she reads it
to me from the magazine
and I laugh at her astonishment

She is old, her hair as white
as the walls in this sun, lovely
Lu does not have to come yet