Grey skies, grey moon,
Lanterns abandoned on the old pontoon;
Coldest rain, not quite snow,
Furloughed ghosts on shoreline roads.
Grey skies, blue moon,
Soonest mended isn’t soon;
I found you in a curlew’s tomb,
Curfew banners and a clue.
Moses basket, river child,
In the mists we walked a mile;
Surface bobbing sombre boon,
Grey skies, a greyhound moon.
Seven Hundred Jisei 
Just wow. Always for me, it seems. I love the places you take us, the glimpses the narrator allows us. You are a trusted guide, and I always feel honored and safe and deeply impacted traveling with you. Sometimes I reach for your hand, though, in my heightened-awareness in those lands. The cry of a falcon, the moan of a ghost, the reflection in the lake…always wide-eyed and eager to discover the sought-after piece, realize the lesson.
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