entering the song
   a singer reveals itself
   as lone loon and lake




   this cold whips through me
   whistling a preview of storm,
   the tea kettle boils.




  in meditation
  my morning peels itself back
  sweet nectar of day
  autumn, a vanishing thought.




In the space between
the tick tocking
the space between notes
half tones and whole tones
in the hues of silence and the silence of yews
in places where one curls up
and meets one's self
I glimpse a reflection in the pond
where dragonflies hang suspended.



Read more poems by
Mallie Boman

See photos from Mona Lisa, Buddha and Me.




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selected poems by Mallie Boman

woman in pink crossing a wooden bridge


I bought this dragon
   in Kyoto,
   just 500 yen,
   five dollars American
I bought this dragon
   on Kujo Dori
   an avenue
   in Kyoto
I bought this dragon
   at a flea market,
   500 yen
This dragon called to me
   blew smoke,
we'd grow old together

I bought this dragon,
   a Chinese sorcerer,
   far from home,
   unattached to the surroundings,
   rainbows glinting off metallic scales,
it called to me
   outside this temple,
   on a street,
   just near the vendor
   selling used kimonos,
this dragon singed
   my eyebrows, called
   my name
Mari-san, Mei Ping, Mariko,

it crooned and I picked up the metallic body
cold in the sweat of a July afternoon,
   on Kujo Dori in Kyoto,
   it, a mottled man
   and I, a modelled woman,
bought this dragon,
   picked out paper
   yen, damp with perspiration of wanting.

He sings to me, to me
   graven images,
   in stone or metal,
   glinting rainbows

He sings to me, to me
   who breathed
   a lifetime ago,

I bought this dragon
   500 yen,
   five dollars American,
   in Kyoto
and he sings to me of that day.