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Metta
returning from Vrindavan again leaving your green eyes for brown, the bending boughs with morning rain the lovers curves, the mounds, the rounds for pavement, dark and wet and there are so many places you could... More »
Metta
I love chanting/ kirtan. I love sitting alone in my room chanting, chanting as I chop vegetables, spontaneously chanting with my children, or sitting with a group gathered more formally. For those of you who are not... More »
Metta
It was a jubilant occasion - many tokens, many smiles and I on the sidelines in my inability to decide. You, infinite eyed, tangled mystery. I, looking to encapsulate all into one and call it... More »
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poetry
