Hi!  My friend!  I wave at you, throw you a kiss.
A kiss never stays on one cheek, one person's lips.
A kiss travels around the world, touching hands,
noses, foreheads, feet, ground,
tree bark, rings inside, leaf adorned.

I do not need to know you
for you to feel my kiss.
It is the kiss of your sister and brother,
though I am a light tan, the color of autumn wheat.
You are light brown, the color of milk chocolate,
wet beautiful clay nine thousand miles away.

Hi!  My friend!  I wave to you, throw you an kiss and bow.
Oh... happy namaste to you.
A kiss never stays on one cheek.
It travels around the world.

Today I don't have one in my heart.
No. Not in my hands or mind.
So. There is nowhere to start.
Not inclined. Confined. Resigned.

Something happened, besides snow
  falling out of December sky,
  besides laughter and merriment.
I fell too, feeling like snow born
  somehow by an uncertain wind,
  variance on a whim.
Still, snow I love, and I love
  with all my heart.

People Who Call the Help Line

Listening is seeing.
  They are like trees with melancholy tunes, 
  leaves hued by a hidden sun,
  ballads with blue histories.
I hug them through the phone,
  as I hug my favorite trees,
  beside the gentle pond, the gentle pond
  where late in summer two swans swam.
It doesn't matter if their stories,
  their branches, sing with beautiful birds
  or coil with chronic, crying snakes.
  My answer must be to hug them all.
Hugging is seeing too.

I cannot write the indescribable,
like consciousness. 
Like him.  Whatever I portray,
it is an atom of who he is.
And his kisses?  Presence I keep
for myself.

I dreamt of you for the second time,
  the second time that I know of.
This morning you are on my mind,
  like Lao Tzu's 10,000 things
that make up this world from infinity.