yard gardenia
for the master and servant
equally its scent

holiday morning
outside the window
the chicken-seller's call

on a dried log
the rain has grown
green moss

bitter cold
wooden deities burn
for the sake of life

I open the leaf
that holds my meal
mother’s fragrance

sandstorm
searching for an address
among skyscrapers

exhausted
at the end of road
your house

rain-washed moon--
the lizard's balanced walk
towards an insect

raindrops...
spreading through the verandah
the scent of basmati

scentless
in the diary
dry flowers

lights flash
they discover
I'm alone

relocation—
a tulasi plant
on the gypsy's head

still water . . .
a zebra runs away
from itself

subjunctive occasions    Gita’s thickness

rumors of war
up into a darkening sky—
a child's newsprint kite

drifting stars . . .
a wish list flutters
in the breeze

monsoon sky
the white cow
chews a milk carton

dense fog . . .
    I dream walk
my sense of I

deafening rain—
to think it has no sound
of its own

on a long way
with me in the dark night
these fireflies

plucking
the last red apple
now I feel the cold

spring solitude...
an alien girl feeds
the sparrows

scars
that have begun to heal...
purple asters

temple bell:
      thinking of God
in the midst of yoga

lonely road
she walks with me
wagging her tail

bustling street . . .
from a graveyard
the smell of roses

ink puddle —
the words that
never were

starry night
a soft feeling in my hand
of numberless sands

spring winds
the cats try again
to tidy their fur

windy morning-
dry leaves fall between
our conversation

bright sunlight
a shadow beside
the shadow of a friend