Poached star yolks
Glow hungry in their yellow glimmer
Braising a dream that never goes away
And melting frozen memories of creasing sorrows
with welcoming first snowdrops.
Let me seed my hopes for equal number of eons to flourish
upon humanity, our dearest, lost sons and daughters,
and their little ones, yet, only written in the stars.
Long with me for a day when they will arise with power
still caged with walls of  a weary future
hearing chilled inner whispers
along with invisible cloaked voices over their shoulders;
clear the path for them, and give them courage to embrace again Earth’s dirt warmth
along with loose humus soil composted by worms.
For future is our amor fati, it blooms free from dark mulch
and paints itself  in wonders of colored visions.
Even though my poem sounds prophetic and old–
I know there is a hope;
too often I run catching the last breathe of a sunset spirit

lingered uneasy over slumber minds of the suburban parks
edged with sewage smell streams
whilst I picture what it would be like in the summer
to capture a photo of the same distant night
in the rushing crystal rapids swirling blue n’ white?
As a little-lap dog with eyes open as the whole universe sky
expecting to be caressed every moment, year after year,
deepening the heart’s bond,
I invite you to the same and be with me on the same old porch

where I breathe again a vernal night,
so we can love, live, and grow into that gentle light.


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