i stand at your wrist 

nestled on the hip of a lively port as it sleeps
your skin dances in the moonlight
from the toll of sweat and life
in heated inland air

like a blanket your cool breath protects me


three quarters, a waning moon i think
grateful the light reveals the dance of your skin
i am gifted the pleasure of a few moments of your company


again, in the privacy of night
i will come play for you
perhaps tomorrow or the day after
i could play here every night until tatters are all that is left
wind whipped threads where clothes once hung


Manjushri's altar in my palm
his lion; my fist
the moon on your dancing skin
the song of your breath resonates like a great temple bell

ah!

this is why the moon illuminates the dance:

as i reflect this self 

that falling star, if i may be the only one who saw it
may all beings find what they seek


waves and peaks, 

hills and valleys come and go

don't close your eyes but don't ignore the sound

beneath black, blue and silver

what life yet plays

Mother Pacific
if all I ever saw was your wrist,
i would still feel your magnitude
and know your great compassion