Little poems

for a yogi

I.

When did the Spring end?
Fallen angel, we were in the garden once
and I held your hand for a moment
my teeth crunched down, apple-sweet
and you fled. 


II.

Every second sunset 
a starling’s wings beat the air
bearing a childhood spent by the coast
with seashells that held the whole ocean. 


III.

Ich bin. 
What then?
A cupped hand for a bowl;
lines in the palm are ripples made by goldfish. 

IV. 

The fork in the road doesn’t mean supper.
Sticking your oar in won’t stop the tide. 

V. 

Princess, weaving is for when the hands
take over sight for tired eyes.
Come down from your tower tonight,
the laughter of children is in the air. 

VI.

Explain it to me in Hebrew. 
Explain it to me in Spanish.
Explain it to me in Dutch. 
Your voice has the whole of time inside it
I’m as happy as a worm is wriggling. 

VII. 

No one prepared a parachute to cushion the fall.
You unfurl
like the spiral of a snail shell
swirls beyond.