I want to go out
and buy a mirror
so I can show
you myself in
purple and black.
But a light rain
has come in,
casting a gray veil
over the volcanoes
in the distance-
so I’m entrapped
in my poetry
for the moment,
with jasmine burning
at my altar of
Ganesh, the lucky
God who removes
all obstacles.
The sun delights
the rain that
falls so softly and
scoffs at my plans,
coaxing the scent
out of desert plants.
And here I am
with only the
burning desire
for a picture in hand.