part of: Poetry
by
1.
I sit a short distance behind the rice fields
waiting for the rain.
Waiting for him to come:
A fisherman,
wiser than most men
with the soul of a samurai
I know of his essence
as the wind blows the reeds gently
but only in a dream.
Although my heart is quiet and full
love tethers me to the earth
as my eyes and brain dance and sing
I smell the rain forming in the wind.